Harry Potter and the Wish of Dreams
by Kate the Great
Summary: A suicidal Harry story. *Complete*
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
A/N: I will randomly and w/out warning switch from 3rd to 1st person and back a lot. Whenever it says "I" it's first. If it says "Harry" or "he" in reference to Harry, that means it's third. Please don't mind.  
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Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.  
  
"Where are we?" he said.  
  
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.  
  
*Oh, no,* thought Harry. *No, no, not this again.*  
  
They were standing in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.  
  
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry.  
  
"Did anyone tell *you* the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.  
  
Abrubtly the scene changed. He was in a small living room, with some comfortable-looking armchairs, a roaring fire, and a wooden floor. There was a family there, a mother, father, little girl, and a baby.  
  
Suddenly the door burst open, and in came three figures with the hoods of their cloaks hiding their faces.   
  
The woman screamed. The man lept up, but knew it was too late. A high, evil laugh rang out through the room. *"Avada Kedarva!"* shrieked the high voice that Harry immediately recognized.  
  
The man fell to the floor. The Death Eaters on either side of Voldemort killed the children. Voldemort laughed again, and murdered their mother.  
  
Harry's scar was burning on his forehead. He felt his head was going to split open at any moment. He let out a scream, and then he woke up.  
  
Harry was gasping for breath, and pressed his hand over his scar. He was completely drenched in sweat.   
  
He heard Uncle Vernon's roar of fury and then he stormed into Harry's room, a roll of duct tape in his hand.  
  
"That's it!" he roared. He pinned the soaking Harry down onto the bed with one hand, and with the other and the aid of his teeth, tore off a piece of duct tape.  
  
"I will not have you disturbing my sleep any more!" shouted Uncle Vernon, and taped shut Harry's mouth to stop him from screaming in his sleep. It had been continuing for the last two weeks, ever since Harry had come home for the summer from school. Vernon knew something terrible must have happened for Harry to be reacting like this, but was too angry at him for having the nerve to disturb his sleep night after night to care. Not that he would have cared anyway. It was nothing less than he deserved for being what he was, for associating him with others of his kind.  
  
Uncle Vernon left, and Harry looked at the clock. 2:33. He gently pulled the tape off his mouth and sat up. He wasn't going to sleep anymore. Every night since he'd come back from Hogwarts, he'd woken up screaming, and didn't dare go back to sleep after that.   
  
His scar still burned. Although it was very painful, Harry was getting used to it by now.   
  
Who was that family Voldemort had just killed? Harry wished and wished that his dreams weren't real, but knew deep in his heart that they were true. *Why* did he kill them? What did they do?  
  
At least he didn't torture them this time. He must have really wanted them dead.   
  
Harry wished for a letter from Sirius, or that he could write to him, or anything. But at the start of the summer Sirius had sent him a letter saying that he was on a mission, and that he couldn't write to Harry often. Harry also couldn't use Hedwig to write to him, she was too noticable.   
  
Hermione didn't have an owl. Sure, sometimes Ron would write to him, but he didn't really understand what was going on with Harry, didn't know what to do to help.   
  
Harry sat looking around his room. There had to be *something* he could do to take his mind off things. But nothing seemed to interest him. He would have died for some dreamless sleep potion right about now. Come to think of it... it would be nice, to die, and not have to deal with Voldemort or the dreams or how I caused Cedric's death.   
  
Hedwig tapped on the glass, a dead mouse in her beak. Harry let her in, and she ate the mouse in her cage before flying out again.  
  
Harry sighed. Yes, it would be nice to end this all.  
  
He lay down on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. How nice that would be. I could finally get some rest. And I wouldn't have to deal with Voldemort...  
  
Harry sat bolt upright. *No,* he thought, *I'm not going to sleep. I *can't* sleep.*  
  
And so Harry sat, flipping through his books, determined not to sleep(though he was very exhausted, having had such little sleep the last two weeks) until 7:30, when Hedwig came back.  
  
Harry opened the window for his owl.  
  
"Hullo, Hedwig," Harry said softly. Hedwig held out her leg and Harry untied a letter.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Hello. Hedwig just stopped by and I thought I'd write you a letter. How are you doing? I'm fine over here, it's a shame they didn't give us more homework, really, I've already finished it all! Oh, well. I'd go to Diagon Alley to get next year's books, but they haven't sent the list yet. Oh, well, I'm just re-reading all my old ones. I might just start on some muggle books pretty soon, I know the school ones so well. They won't be nearly as interesting, but what can you do? Anyway, don't let the muggles get you down, Harry, it'll be all right. I'm going to Ron's later this summer, when Dumbledore says it's okay for you to go. I'll see you then.  
  
Love,  
  
Hermione  
  
*Of course Hermione'd want more homework,*Harry thought. Well, the letter did one thing, and it got Harry's mind off his own miserable life for about a minute.   
  
He heard the Dursleys moving about their rooms and starting to go downstairs. Harry sighed and went down for breakfast, which was bound to be as miserable as his own existence(so he thought), as Dudley was still on his diet. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
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No one looked up as Harry sat down. This wasn't unusual. The Dursleys typically acted as if Harry wasn't there at all, except to make him do chores. This didn't bother Harry too much, as when the Dursleys did take notice of him they were anything but pleasant.   
  
Aunt Petunia gave Harry the smallest grapefruit quarter, as usual. Uncle Vernon was a bit less upset over living on "rabbit food" this summer because, Harry knew, he would always buy something from the bakery across the street from Grunnings as soon as he got to work.   
  
Harry had again owled his friends for help and had a nice stash of food hidden away under the loose floorboard in his room, though it wasn't going very fast. Harry found he wasn't very hungry this summer.  
  
When Vernon and Petunia weren't looking, Harry dumped his grapefruit quarter onto Dudley's plate(to his cousin's delight) and headed back upstairs.  
  
Harry again sat and looked around his room. There were a variety of old broken things of Dudley's, a lot of very dusty books, Harry's school things, and a sleeping Hedwig. Nothing really interested Harry, and his mind returned to his dream.  
  
That family... why did Voldemort want to kill that family? Was one of the parents an auror?   
  
Voldemort had been out killing every night since his return. Harry reckoned he was making up for lost time. Harry could tell when the killing was more for fun or if it actually had a purpose - if it were fun he would torture them first. And every night, Harry would see it all in his dreams, feel it in his scar, wake up screaming.   
  
Harry yawned. No, I'm not going to sleep! I *can't* dream again!  
  
Harry wondered what would happen if he sent an owl to Madam Pomfrey asking for some Dreamless Sleep potion. He couldn't do that, then everyone would know something was wrong, and worry about him....  
  
He opened his closet door and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked sad, but mostly sleep deprived. He had big dark circles under his eyes. And he was sad. Depressed, really. And tired, of course. *Very* tired.  
  
"Harry! Get down here!" screeched Aunt Petunia. Harry groaned, but started down the stairs.  
  
"Now," she said stiffly, looking angry at him for no good reason, as she always did. "You are going to mow the lawn - front AND back - fix up the flower beds, paint the garage, and wash my car. And you can't eat anything until you've finished, do you hear?"  
  
Harry said nothing, but started off.   
  
"Fix your hair!" barked Uncle Vernon.  
  
Harry did nothing to tidy his hair, but started the lawnmower and started mowing the front lawn. All these chores! Dudley had to do nothing. Oh, but that was expected of course. Not like I don't deserve this or anything, all I am is a burden.   
  
I don't want to be stuck with these people though. This miserable excuse for a family. Miserable - just like my life. Miserable... I'd like to see my parents again. Then I wouldn't be miserable, would I? No, I expect not. He kept on thinking like this for awhile. A long while, actually. He finished mowing the lawn and he fixed the flower beds as well. Now he was starting to paint the garage.  
  
The sun was high up. Harry was hungry. He supposed it was about lunchtime. That, and he didn't eat any breakfast. He sighed. If only they could see the famous Harry Potter now, he thought bitterly, and sneered. He thought this often.   
  
He slathered paint on the garage, though neatly enough so he wouldn't be punished, or have to do it over. He turned his face away and coughed at the fumes. Breathing them would be a very bad idea. They would make him light-headed and for all he knew he might fall asleep right in the driveway if he did something like that.   
  
It was difficult, painting the garage. Trying not to pass out from the fumes(which was usually not that hard, but combined with how tired he was, was) was difficult business, but he managed, and then, finally, started washing Aunt Petunia's car.   
  
Harry turned on the hose, getting an idea. He bent over and put his head under the flow of icy cold water. He shivered. It did wake him up, though. He finished washing the car and headed inside.  
  
"Oh no you don't!" Aunt Petunia shrieked. "You're soaking wet, I will NOT have you inside my house! Out, now, out with you! And don't come back until you're completely dry!"  
  
Scowling, Harry went outside. This is so unfair. Hands in his pockets, he paced the front yard for over half an hour, stomach grumbling, until he was fairly dry, and went inside.  
  
Wordlessly, Aunt Petunia shoved a bit of "rabbit food" at Harry, who quickly ate it, then went upstairs. Pig was waiting for him there, hooting excitedly around the room, Hedwig glaring up at him.   
  
Harry caught Pig in midair, and untied the letter from his leg. Harry was glad Uncle Vernon was gone at work, or else... well, it wouldn't be very nice.  
  
Harry-  
  
What's up friend. Dumbledore's working on the Burrow right now. He says a few weeks...anyway, I just thought I'd send Pig along to say hi. I hope you write back.   
  
See you,  
  
Ron  
  
Ron tries, he really does, he just doesn't understand. He just can't understand.  
  
Ron-  
  
Hi. Summer's as usual. The Dursleys are being prats as usual. Other than that, I'm good.  
  
-Harry  
  
Harry tied the letter to Pig, and Pig flew off.  
  
It doesn't feel *good* to lie to Ron, but what else can I do?   
  
Because I'm not good. I'm not. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own it, don't you know it  
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Harry sat watching as the time on his alarm clock became 12:00. It was his birthday. Harry yawned deeply and struggled to stay awake. He leaned out his window and breathed in deeply the fresh summer air. Listening intently, he knew the Dursleys were asleep. Leaving his window open in case Hedwig came back, or someone sent him a birthday gift(as they did have the tendancy to arrive in the middle of the night), he crept out of his room.  
  
Harry yawned again and crept downstairs, holding the glass he had kept in his room the past few weeks. He paused, listening, hearing nothing. Quietly he crept into the kitchen and filled the glass with ice. He took an ice cube and rubbed it on the back of his neck, sending chills down his spine. It did keep him awake, though. If he kept it up, he might make it through the night. Silently he crept back upstairs.  
  
Sure enough, there were owls with packages in his room. Pig started hooting shrilly at the sight of Harry, and he heard Uncle Vernon stir in the next room. Harry caught the tiny owl quickly and fiercly in his right hand. Pig had helped to deliver a package and a card, so Harry threw him out the window and closed it so the Dursleys wouldn't wake up. Errol was drinking water from Hedwig's cage, and she was perched silently on top of it.  
  
Harry then noticed the a couple of presents lying on his bed. Yawning, he started to open them.  
  
The first thing he opened was a card from Ron. It had *Happy Birthday Harry* written on the front in neat handwriting Harry recognized as Mrs. Weasley's that changed colors, like the banner his friends had made for him during his first ever Quidditch match.  
  
Harry-  
  
Happy birthday! Mum made the front for me cos I can't do magic in the summers, do you like it? I hope you enjoy your presents. Don't eat the cupcakes, by the way, I'm pretty sure Fred and George did something to them. Could make you turn into a pigeon for all I know. There's also some fudge from my mum that's ok, and from me is a Danger Detector. The smoke will turn yellow if there's danger coming soon. If floats, see? Percy says it's just a cheap gimmick, cos it kept turning yellow when it was near him. We'll see what happens to him after it's sent. Anyway, enjoy!  
  
-Ron  
  
Harry picked up the package and unwrapped it. Inside the box were half a dozen chocolate cupcakes, some homemade fudge from Mrs. Weasley, and from Ron, a small glass sphere with swirling gray smoke inside. Thankfully, it stayed that color.  
  
He opened the other package.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Happy birthday! I hope it's good. Thankfully, Hedwig turned up so I could get you your present. I hope you enjoy it.   
  
Love from,   
  
Hermione  
  
Hmm, that was an unusually short letter. Harry unwrapped the package and found a heavy leatherbound book. Harry ran his fingers over the title. *1001 Useful Everyday Charms*  
  
There was nothing from Hagrid. Harry felt sad and worried as he reliased this.  
  
Harry flipped through the book. After a few minutes, he stopped, remembering that he wasn't allowed to do magic over the holidays.  
  
Harry took some more ice and ran it over his forehead, giving him chills. He ran it over the back of his neck, his wrists, the front of his neck, anywhere that would make him really cold really fast. Anything to keep awake. He winced, the cold of the ice burning his hand, but still he kept doing it.   
  
*********************  
  
Harry heard the Dursleys starting to get up, so Harry went downstairs. He made two pots of coffee. The first, he drank some and quietly brought the rest to his room, the second pot he made for Uncle Vernon like he had been doing ever since he started using coffee to wake himself up. Uncle Vernon didn't mind.   
  
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Vernon came downstairs and sat down to his pitiful breakfast. No need to complain, Petunia gets mad at me if I complain, and besides, I'm going to the bakery soon anyway.   
  
Harry made me coffee again, nice and hot. It's the least he can do, us taking him in. Could have sent him to an orphanage years ago.   
  
He's not looking very well lately. Pale, skinny little brat, but he's looking more so lately. And *tired.* Well, it's his fault if he's not sleeping enough. Lord knows Petunia and I give him more than enough time to himself. We like him out of our way, but he could at least be put to *some* use.   
  
He hasn't been screaming out in his sleep anymore. Maybe that's because he hasn't been sleeping, that might explain how tired he looks. Or maybe whatever nightmares he's been having have stopped. His fault they were brought about, I'm sure. He always was no good.  
  
"Oh my," said Petunia.  
  
It was a story on the television. A whole family killed up north. No suspects, not even a cause of death. Been happening every now and then for about a month now.  
  
Vernon shook his head, muttering something about incompetence. That was strange, and he didn't like to think of anything strange.  
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After breakfast Harry immediately went up to his room and gulped down the rest of the coffee. He was SO tired.   
  
A few minutes later Aunt Petunia called him down with a list of chores to do, which he did, without protest.  
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Boy's doing chores again. As he should. He doesn't do nearly enough. He doesn't even complain about them anymore. Of course, I won't let him do *some* things. Like tidying up Dudley-kins's room. *I'm* the only one to be trusted with that. Dudley mustn't be interrupted from his television and video games, and he most *certainly* wouldn't want Harry there. I can't wait until he's gone, back at that school of his, when I won't have to deal with him *being* here, or look into those eyes which have aquired a deadened look to them....  
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After finishing his chores, Harry went back upstairs to his bedroom. He was *so* exhausted. He decided he'd better risk it and sleep. Better sleep now, in the day when Voldemort and the Death Eaters aren't active....  
  
Harry took a clean sock and put it into his mouth so that he couldn't scream, and fell asleep. As he knew he would, he dreamed.  
  
*Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.  
  
"Where are we?" he said.  
  
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.  
  
They were standing in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.  
  
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry.  
  
"Did anyone tell *you* the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.  
  
"Nope," said Harry. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"  
  
*Oh no it's not* thought Harry, preparing for what he knew would come.  
  
"I dunno," said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"  
  
"Yeah," said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him.  
  
They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.  
  
"Someone's coming," he said suddenly.   
  
They watched the figure drawing nearer. From the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying looked like a baby...or was it merely a bundle of robes?  
  
Harry lowered his want slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure.  
  
It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them.  
  
And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. His knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open.  
  
From far away, above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say, *"Kill the spare."*  
  
*Oh, no, oh, no,* thought Harry frantically in his sleep.  
  
A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: *"Avada Kedarva!"**  
  
Harry woke with a start. He took the sock out of his mouth, breathing hard, covered in sweat. He looked at his clock. He had been asleep for two and a half hours.  
  
Harry sat up and shook his head with frustration. He felt exhausted from the dream.   
  
He looked out his bedroom window and saw some children playing and laughing below. No cares, no worries, no nightmares, no Voldemort...  
  
I'd like that. And I could have it, too... if I died.   
  
Harry sighed looked around his room. Lots of Dudley's old broken things, a lamp, alarm clock, closed, desk, shelves of dusty books, his trunk...  
  
Harry opened his trunk. His books, wand, some money, robes, invisibility cloak, broom...  
  
Harry opened up another compartment. The pocketknife Sirius had given him last year.  
  
Of course. The pocket knife. How could I have been so stupid.  
  
He picked up the knife interestedly, and opened it up. He looked intently at its shining blade. He ran his thumb down the sharp side. The blade was sharp, and sliced his thumb, making it bleed.  
  
"Ow!" said Harry, not loud enough to disturb any of the Dursleys, and stuck his injured thumb in his mouth, nursing it with his eyes closed, rocking back and forth slightly.  
  
He suddenly stopped rocking and opened his eyes, the pain seeping into him. 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: the golden rule of fanfics: don't own, don't sue(A/N: I don't even own this disclaimer)  
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The pain... it was intense, awakening, got his mind off his other problems, and even...enjoyable? Yes, he decided. It was enjoyable. He sat there, letting the pain seep into him, his senses more alert than that had been in weeks. Eventually, though, the pain subsided, and Harry was back to being his miserable, tired, tortured self.  
  
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The next morning came with the Dursleys having made no notice of Harry's birthday, no word from either Hagrid or Sirius, and Harry managing to stay awake the entire night.   
  
Yawning, he went downstairs. He was completely and utterly exhausted, which, given the circumstances, was completely understandable. He held onto the railing so as to not fall down the stairs.   
  
"Stop yawning!" nagged Aunt Petunia as Harry sat at the breakfast table, yawning consistently. Dudley looked eagerly at Harry's grapefruit quarter, but Harry did not give it to him today. Dudley looked sulky as he went upstairs to play video games after breakfast. Vernon kissed Petunia and went to work, and before Harry could escape upstairs Aunt Petunia was on him, hands on her hips.  
  
"Oh, no, you don't!" she said, as Harry yawned. "You're going to mow the front lawn. I have nothing else for you to do." she tutted, obviously thinking this a disgrace of some sort.  
  
Harry went into the garage and got the lawnmower. *No, I must stay awake* Harry told himself. He wanted more than anything to sleep, yet feared it so much also.  
  
Harry clumsily pushed the lawnmower over the grass in the front yard, not really paying attention, simply focusing on staying awake. He would die for some dreamless sleep potion, or just to stay awake.   
  
*I could get dreamless sleep if I died,* mused Harry. *That would be *wonderful.**  
  
He put away the lawnmower, and clumsily walked up the stairs to his room, tripping a bit occasionally. He drank the cold coffee he had been keeping up there since before breakfast. It didn't do much to wake him up, unfortunately.  
  
Harry at last gave in and stretched out on his bed, placing the sock once more in his mouth so as not to scream, as he inevitably would. And, he dreamed.  
  
*Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.  
  
"Where are we?" he said.  
  
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.  
  
They were standing in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.  
  
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry.  
  
"Did anyone tell *you* the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.  
  
"Nope," said Harry. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"  
  
"I dunno," said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"  
  
"Yeah," said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him.  
  
They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.  
  
"Someone's coming," he said suddenly.   
  
They watched the figure drawing nearer. From the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying looked like a baby...or was it merely a bundle of robes?  
  
The scene changed, and Harry was watching a figure sitting in a high-backed chair, with someone in robes kneeling before him. Harry instantly recognized the figure in the chair to be Voldemort.  
  
"So," said Voldemort, in his high, evil voice, "you have failed me yet again, Goyle."  
  
Goyle started a studdering speech, but Voldemort cut him off.  
  
"I trust it will not happen again?" he said coldly.  
  
"N-n-no, my lord..." began Goyle.  
  
"We are to operate in secret, it is most helpful for that dingbat Cornelius Fudge to keep denying our activity. By your error -"  
  
"My lord, it will not happen again..."  
  
"Perhaps you need a little *reminder* of what happens to my followers when they make mistakes?" said Voldemort in his high, cold voice, and Harry's scar exploded with pain.  
  
"Cru-"  
  
A loud noise woke Harry with a start, and he sat up. His bedroom door had been banged open, and a livid-looking Uncle Vernon was standing in the doorway.  
  
*Oh, joy,* thought Harry sarcastically. *What have I done now?*  
  
"BOY!" roared Uncle Vernon, and immediately Dudley appeared in the hallway, eager to see Harry be bullied by Uncle Vernon.  
  
"Wot?" said Harry irritably, leaning his head to one side. He didn't really care what happened to him anymore.  
  
Uncle Vernon breathed in a furious breath, and roughly grabbed Harry by the back of his neck.  
  
"Let go of me!" he protested, kicking.  
  
Uncle Vernon shoved him down the stairs and out onto the front porch.  
  
"*Look at this,*" he hissed. "Petunia tells me *you* mowed the lawn today."  
  
*Hmm,* Harry thought. *Guess I *really* wasn't paying attention, now, was I?*  
  
He could see why Uncle Vernon was so upset. He wanted everything to be perfect, and the front lawn was anything but. It wasn't mowed in straight lines, but rather crooked ones, and parts of the lawn weren't even mowed at all. Harry looked and saw he *had* however mowed down some of Petunia's flowerbeds. It was rather funny, really.  
  
Harry chuckled.  
  
Vernon spun him around, his eyes wide, his face red, that vein throbbing in his temple.  
  
"FUNNY! YOU THINK THIS IS *FUNNY*!" he roared. "I'LL SHOW YOU WHAT'S FUNNY!" And he roughly pushed Harry inside and kicked him, hard, in the shins. Harry fell to the floor. Vernon roughly picked him up and tossed him into the cupboard under the stairs. All the while Harry tried to say something about "My godfather..." but it didn't quite come out, because he was in such pain and because he was yawning at the same time. Harry heard the cupboard being locked.  
  
Dudley laughed, and Vernon muttered something that sounded like "if the house catches fire we're leaving him in there" and walked away.   
  
Harry felt into his pocket and felt the pocketknife Sirius had given him. 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Harry Potter... not mine(A/N: This disclaimer... not mine either)  
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Harry didn't know how long he was locked in his cupboard. He did know that after the Dursleys would occasionally unlock the cupboard door, open it a crack, and shove in a little bit of toast, or cold soup, or the like. He also knew that they would, morning and night, let him out for him to use the bathroom. But the days blurred together in the windowless cupboard.  
  
Harry also knew that he now had a problem. Sure, being locked inside a cupboard for who knows how long is always of course a problem. But he also now had no coffee and no ice to keep him awake. He also had no chores. But Harry didn't really mind the chores too much, they kept his mind off the dreams.  
  
Yes, the dreams. They made his *life* something of a nightmare. He did his best to only sleep during the day, when the Death Eaters weren't active, and only Cedric was there to torment him.   
  
He felt so guilty about Cedric's death, and having to relive the experience every time he tried to sleep did anything but help ease Harry's pain. He knew it was all his fault. If only he hadn't told Cedric to take the Cup with him....  
  
He sighed. Then he yawned. He yawned constantly. And now... there was only the knife to keep him awake.  
  
Yes, the blessed knife Harry had so conveniently kept in his pocket. Harry didn't use it more than he had to, although he did rather enjoy the pain it brought. He knew that eventually, if he ever got out, people would see its marks and question him. That was the last thing he wanted.  
  
Although... no one would question me if I just finished myself off already. Ha! No one could question me ever again. It's not like I don't deserve to die... I'd be doing everyone a favor, really. Seeing as how I caused Cedric to die, caused Voldemort to return, am nothing but a burden, really, nobody wants me. I haven't a proper home or family or anything.   
  
But something always stopped him from doing it.  
  
Harry knew it was night now, and couldn't stand the thought of going to sleep. He knew he would soon, though, if he didn't do something about it.  
  
Harry rolled up his sleeve and took out the knife. The crack under the door was still pitch black, so he knew it was far from morning. He'd learned through experimenting that an actual cut kept him awake far longer than just a little prick. He brought the knife up to his arm(to where a t-shirt could cover it), swallowed, and....  
  
Pain immediately coursed through him. Harry breathed heavily, savoring the pain. If he was lucky, this one might last him through the night.  
  
***************************************  
  
Hours later, Harry Potter sat against the back of his cupboard, staring up at the dark above him, focusing on the lingering throbbing pain in his right arm.   
  
Aunt Petunia opened the cupboard door, the morning freeing of Harry. He got out, did his business, and started to return to his cupboard.  
  
"Oh no you don't," said Uncle Vernon, and he pushed Harry into the kitchen. He handed him a piece of paper and a pen.  
  
"You write to that godfather of yours," he commanded. "Tell him your summer's going fine and that we're treating you all right." He looked over Harry's shoulder to be sure he followed his commands.  
  
Now Harry hadn't written to Sirius all summer. He knew, that, far from reassuring Sirius, as Uncle Vernon intended, the letter sent to say everything was going fine would instead clue him in to the truth. Without mentioning this, Harry did as was instructed, and sent the letter off with Hedwig, under the careful eye of Uncle Vernon.  
  
****************************************  
  
A while more went by while Harry was locked up in his cupboard.  
  
*Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.  
  
"Where are we?" he said.  
  
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.  
  
They were standing in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible...*  
  
Harry was awoken by Aunt Petunia's shriek. He heard Uncle Vernon run into the living room, where he gave a roar of fury.  
  
"YOU!" he roared. Harry took the sock out of his mouth, and listened.  
  
"NO! YOU'RE NOT TAKING HIM! WE REFUSE!" he shouted at somebody. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"  
  
There was a moment where Harry couldn't hear anything, then he heard shuffling steps outside the cupboard door.  
  
"Alohamora," he heard the voice he recognized as Mr. Weasley's say, and the cupboard door flew open.  
  
"Harry!" he said, and helped him up. He saw Ron standing behind him, and caught a glimpse of the twins running upstairs.  
  
"Fred and George are getting your trunk. Lucky Ron remembered you used to have to sleep in here," said Mr. Weasley, with disapproval at his voice. He raised it slightly so that the Dursleys could hear him scolding them.  
  
"Hey, mate," said Geroge, coming down the stairs with Fred, Hedwig, and his trunk.  
  
"Come on, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, pushing Harry toward the busted up fireplace. "Fred, you first with the trunk."  
  
Fred tossed a bit of floo powder into the fire, shouted "The Burrow!" and vanished with the trunk.  
  
Harry went next, his voice a bit croaky from not being used.  
  
With a *whoosh* he was off. Very soon, he was at The Burrow.   
  
"Hello, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. Harry noticed a slight look of concern on her face. Just then, Ron came through the fireplace. A moment later, Mr. Weasley apparated.  
  
"I think maybe Harry should get some sleep," said Mr. Weasley to Mrs. Weasley.  
  
"No, I don't-" Harry began, but was cut off by another yawn.  
  
"Really, Harry dear. Ron, show him up to your room," Mrs. Weasley said kindly, and off they went. "Oh, hello, Hermione."  
  
Hermione had just come from the next room.   
  
"She came this morning," Ron filled in.  
  
"Hello, Harry," she said.  
  
"Show Harry up to your room, now," said Mrs. Weasley again, and the three of them headed upstairs.  
  
"So...how was your summer?" Ron asked nervously to Harry. He replied with a yawn.   
  
"You look awfully tired, Harry," said the clever Hermione. "Have you been having dreams again?"  
  
Harry yawned and shrugged. *I wish I could stop yawning!*  
  
"Well... perhaps Ron's mum could make you some dreamless sleep potion?" Hermioe suggested. "I'll go ask her." She turned around and headed downstairs before anyone could respond.  
  
Ron shrugged at Harry in a helpless sort of way, silently thanking his lucky stars Hermione had come up with the idea. He surely wouldn't have.  
  
Great, now the Weasleys are going to worry about me.  
  
Hey, they wouldn't worry about me if I were dead.  
  
Deep in the back of his mind he was grateful for it, though. It was just what he'd been longing for all summer, and it would be close to impossible for him to get any sleep at all with the Weasleys without it.  
  
Hermione came back.   
  
"Mrs. Weasley's brewing up some potion right now," she said.   
  
They sat quietly for a few minutes, wondering what to say.   
  
"So... how long did they keep you in that cupboard?" he asked finally.  
  
"I dunno," said Harry quietly. "Since... day after my birthday."  
  
"Wow, Harry, that's been eight days," said Ron.   
  
They sat quietly a few more minutes.  
  
"Why'd you come get me?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh," said Ron. "Well, Professor Lupin sent us an owl, saying you sent Snuffles a letter saying everything was all right, and that Snuffles told you you can't owl him this summer, and that you hadn't, except for that. So they reckoned that something was probably up, and that the muggles probably made you write it..."  
  
Harry nodded glumly. Then he forced a smile.  
  
"'S okay, though," he said, hoping his smile looked convincing. Ron smiled back, so Harry figured it probably did.  
  
"Dumbledore finished with the Burrow just this morning," Ron said happily. "Got all sorts of spells on it, enchantments, to protect you."  
  
Harry felt another pang of guilt. The Weasleys... him being here was endangering them.  
  
Mrs. Weasley entered the room then, with a goblet of dreamless sleep potion in her hands.  
  
"Here you go, Harry dear," she said, giving him the goblet and a motherly smile. "Arthur apparated to Diagon Alley and got some; it takes awhile to brew."  
  
Harry smiled at her.   
  
She gave him another motherly smile. "Drink it all, now. Come on."  
  
Harry tipped his head back and drank it all, eager for some dreamless sleep. Yet a part of him couldn't help hoping that he might not wake up.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
A/N: Review, if you wish.  
To my reviewers: japangirlcarley24, velondra, and punkpixie87: thank you all! 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing!  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Harry awoke alone in Ron's room, bright sunlight filling the room.  
  
Harry sat up blearly, looking and feeling around for his glasses. Eventually he found them, and put them on. He hadn't bothered to change his clothes the night before, so he just headed down the many stairs to the Weasley kitchen.  
  
He encountered Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen alone, bustling around as usual.  
  
"Oh, hello, Harry, dear," she said. "Here, have some breakfast." She pointed to the table, where there was a lone plate filled with eggs and sausages.  
  
"Where is everyone?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh!" said Mrs. Weasley. "They're outside playing Quidditch. Eat your breakfast, now, then you can go out with them."  
  
Harry sat down and ate a bit of his breakfast.   
  
"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, I'm full," he said after a couple of minutes, having eaten hardly any of his breakfast, and he dashed upstairs to get his Firebolt and join the Weasleys and Hermione.  
  
He made his way outside, and met the rest of them playing Quidditch.  
  
"Hey, Harry!" said George, spotting Harry down on the ground. Fred and Ron stopped in midair to look down at him, and Ginny tried to, but she wasn't a particularly skilled flyer. Hermione tried to as well, but her broom sort of wobbled, so she just held on tight and focused on that. Flying, like chess, wasn't her strong suit.  
  
"Come on up, Harry, I need you on my team, it's me, Hermione, and Ginny against them!" Ron shouted down to him. Harry mounted his broom, and went up.  
  
Harry noticed as he was flying up to meet them that the sun was high up in the sky.  
  
"Hey, Ron, what time is it?" Harry asked. Ron looked at his watch.  
  
"Getting on three. Anyway, Harry, with them on my team," he tilted his head in the direction of the struggling Hermione and Ginny, "we're about done for. We're losing like mad. 110 to nothing it's at now. You gotta help us."  
  
Harry nodded and flew away, thinking. Three... I've been asleep almost a whole day! I fell asleep about five yesterday. Was that the sleeping potion? Or was that me? I hope I don't sleep like that all the time...  
  
They stopped playing Quidditch three hours later, when Mrs. Weasley called them all in for dinner. The final score was 230-210, in favor of Harry's team.  
  
The nine of them sat down to dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Harry. After dinner Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry all played Exploding Snap before heading up to bed.  
  
Harry took a shower and changed into pajamas before walking into Ron's room to sleep. He saw Ron and Hermione talking quietly to one another, but they abruptly stopped when he entered the room.   
  
"Oh, Harry, you're going to bed, I'll tell Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said, and she disappeared.  
  
"What was that all about?" Harry asked Ron.  
  
"Oh, nothing," said Ron, looking down and blushing.   
  
Harry sat on his cot, feeling strangely tired. I slept so long... why am I tired? Mrs. Weasley appeared at the door, with a goblet of dreamless sleep potion in her hands.  
  
"Here you go, dear," she said, handing Harry the goblet. "Drink it all, go on."  
  
Harry felt a pang of guilt. I'm so much trouble to have around! They don't really need to do all this for me... although I'd be lost without it.  
  
He drank a bit of potion, and felt a warm drowsiness come over him. He lay back, letting it take him in. He didn't finish drinking the potion; he was afraid of sleeping so long again. I'll be all right without so much.  
****************************************  
Harry woke with a start, covered in cold sweat. Did I just scream? He noticed his violently orange surroundings and remembered with horror where he was. If I just screamed, and Ron heard me...  
  
Harry looked around frantically, but, thankfully, no one was in the room. Harry only now hoped his voice hadn't carried downstairs.  
  
Harry got up, grabbed some clothes, and went to take a shower. He shivered as the cold water poured over him, waking him up.   
  
He had dremt about Cedric's death. Re-lived Cedric's death. I know I caused it. It's all my fault. If I hadn't told him to take the Cup...  
  
Harry let his thoughts dwell on this for about an hour, before finally forcing himself to go downstairs.  
  
Again, the kitchen was empty except for Mrs. Weasley, who forced him to eat a bit of his breakfast before meeting up with Ron and Hermione outside.  
  
"Hey Harry," said Ron and Hermione. It was a hot day, and they were sitting in the shade under a large tree. Harry, however, felt cold.  
  
Harry sat in the sun a little away from Hermione and Ron, his thoughts returning to Cedric's death.   
  
I caused his death, it was all my fault, no matter what anyone tried to tell me last year after it happened. I caused Cedric to die, and I caused Voldemort to return. It's all my fault. And now with the Weasleys... I'm endangering them just by being here. And they go through so much trouble for me... it's not fair to them. I don't deserve any of this. What do they get in return? Nothing, just a lot of trouble is all. And back with the Dursleys... they never wanted me there, they never wanted to take care of me...  
  
Harry's mind continued thinking of all these things for quite awhile, Ron and Hermione talking quietly near him, thinking it best to let him be for awhile. Eventually, Harry got *so* carried away with his thoughts that he didn't even notice himself falling asleep.  
  
  
Harry was in someone's kitchen... an older couple was having lunch. Suddenly, some figures with the hoods of thier cloaks covering their faces appeared in the room next to them.  
  
The woman screamed, the man yelled, and a high, cold voice called out from under the middle hood.  
  
"Crucio!"  
  
The man fell to the floor, screaming in pain. Harry's scar was burning, but Harry did not cry out.   
  
A Death Eater near Voldemort now said "Crucio!" and the woman was on the floor, screaming in pain as well. The screaming was filling Harry's ears, all three of them were in agony, the man, the woman, and Harry himself. It was terrible, just awful.  
  
  
"Harry, Harry, wake up," came an urgent voice from above him.  
  
Harry opened his eyes and looked up into Hermione's face, with Ron hovering behind her.  
  
"You all right?" Ron asked.  
  
Oh no, oh no, oh no, I was dreaming, they're here....  
  
"You fell asleep," Hermione said softly to him. "I thought you might be having a nightmare, and so I woke you up."  
  
Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't think he'd cried out this time, which was good.  
  
He gave her a small smile of thanks.  
  
They all sat, Ron and Hermione were now quiet, every now and then glancing nervously, concernedly, sympathetically at Harry. It made Harry feel uncomfortable. And them seeing him like that... it made him feel ashamed.  
  
His mind was still on the dream, however. He knew for sure what would have come next. But since when had Voldemort become active in the daytime?  
  
All my fault, it's all my fault, Harry thought miserably to himself. All of this, everything. Cedric... Voldemort... The Weasleys caring so much, they don't need to worry about me like this. Ron, Hermione. They shouldn't *have* to worry like this.  
  
"Harry! Hermione! Ron! It's time for lunch!" Mrs. Weasley called from the house.  
  
"Coming Mum!" Ron called back to her, and the three of them got up and started walking back into the house. Harry walked slightly behind the other two, and put a hand in his pocket, feeling the knife that Sirius had given him.  
  
And it was decided.  
  
I'm doing it tonight. 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: NOT MINE  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
It was evening, after dinner, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were outside, Mrs. Weasley a several yards away cleaning up after dinner.  
  
"Want to play Exploding Snap, Harry?" Ron asked.  
  
"No," said Harry. After a few moments, he added, "I'll think I'll just take a walk."  
  
Ron opened his mouth as if to protest, but Hermione put a hand on his arm and he stopped.  
  
"See you, Harry," he said.  
  
"Later, Harry," Hermione said. "Don't get lost."  
  
Harry opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and said, "Goodbye, Ron. Goodbye, Hermione," and set off into the settling dark.  
  
Harry walked away from The Burrow, from his friends, hands in his pockets, his right thumb running itself over the body of the pocketknife.   
  
His thoughts hung for a moment on Ron and Hermione. They're so good to me, I don't deserve them. They didn't even follow me now, they let me be alone. I couldn't have asked for anything nicer.  
  
And Mrs. Weasley... she was always so kind, she didn't need to be, no one needed to be. It's unfair, I didn't need that, I didn't deserve that. I don't deserve anything. I killed Cedric. If it weren't for me... Well, if it weren't for me Voldemort wouldn't be back either. And because he's back... well, there's no telling how many people I've killed. He's got my blood in him. It's all my fault. Everything is my fault.   
  
And the Weasleys... they gave me so much. I didn't deserve any of that. They're such nice people... It'll be good for them, to be rid of me. *Oh,* he groaned miserably. I'm endangering them, too. When I'm gone they'll be safe.   
  
And Dumbledore. He always went out of his way for me. He's so kind...  
  
And so his thoughts went, going over everyone and everything he thought he never deserved, everything he thought he caused, until he'd reached the edge of some woods a great deal away from the Weasley house.  
  
Harry walked slowly up to the woods and made his way into them. He didn't go very far in at all, and looked around before leaning against a tree.  
  
He took the pocketknife out of his pocket, opening it up and staring intently, the metal gleaming in the moonlight. Harry slumped against the tree, thinking how he was going to do this. His mind wandered over the different possibilities for several minutes.  
  
Harry stood up, still leaning against the tree. He took a deep breath, braced himself and closed his eyes, bringing the knife up to his throat.  
  
Abruptly he stopped. He heard running footsteps approaching. Looking to his right, he saw a tall figure running towards him through the grass.  
  
The figure stopped just feet from him, and Harry, realizing who it was, quickly closed the knife and put it back into his pocket.  
  
"Harry," gasped Ron, "you've *got* to see what Fred and George have done!" 


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: this isn't mine!  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Harry and Ron walked into the Weasley's kitchen to see everyone gathered around the kitchen table. Harry saw on that table a very angry-looking leprechan, shaking its fists in the air at Fred and George.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to ask what was going on, when he noticed something.  
  
"Is that Percy?" he asked, amazed.  
  
"Yep," said George brightly, until he caught sight of Mrs. Weasley, when his grin disappeared and his gaze returned to the table. Seeing the leprechaun, he couldn't help smiling again. Even Mrs. Weasley was smiling, though she was careful to wear a disapproving look whenever Fred or George looked up.  
  
"It was some tea that did it," Ron whispered to Harry. "He should know by now not to accept anything from them...it should wear off in a few minutes."  
  
A few minutes later, the angry little leprechaun turned into an angry looking Percy, who hit his head on the ceiling when he changed back because he was standing on the table.  
  
"Ow!" he said, rubbing the top of his head. Then his eyes widened in anger at the sight of Fred and George, and they ran, Percy leaping off the table to run after them, but tripping over his robes and falling flat on his face on the ground. Fred and George turned and laughed as they ran backwards away from Percy before he could get up. Everyone was laughing. The twins ran full out out the front door when Percy pushed himself up and was running as fast as his wizard's robes would allow. It was all a very amusing scene.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
That night, before taking the dreamless sleep potion, Harry sat on his cot, a distant look on his face, deep in thought. They were dark thoughts, full of regrets, but his face was nothing but distant.  
  
Why did he have to stop me? Just... half a minute more. Five more minutes, to be sure I was finished off completely, and it would all be okay. Why? Why did he have to come?  
  
Maybe I was being selfish... yeah, it was all for myself. But... that look, on Hermione's face this afternoon. And on Ron's... No, they were worrying too much, I can't let them do that. I can't let them be a burden to me anymore.  
  
Next time I'll go deeper into the forest, where they can't find me. Yes, and then they can't stop me and can't save me.  
  
Harry nodded to himself.  
  
"Harry?" asked Ron, jerking Harry out of his trance.  
  
"Hm," Harry said, looking up.  
  
"What's up?"  
  
"Oh, nothing."  
  
"Alright."  
  
Then Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room, holding the goblet of dreamless sleep potion in her hands and smiling.  
  
"Here you go, dear," she said, handing the goblet to Harry.  
  
Oh, this is so embarassing. All this trouble just for me. Oh, this *is* embarassing. Everyone worrying about me...  
  
Harry forced a tight-lipped smile and accepted the goblet, drinking it all. There wasn't so much as the night before last, only a bit more than what he drank last night. He fell into a sweet, dreamless sleep.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The lazy days at Ron's house all just blended together. One afternoon, Harry and Ron were playing chess in the living room, Hermione and Ginny were watching, and Fred and George were making loud exploding noises in their room.   
  
Harry tried to move his bishop forward three squares, to take out one of Ron's pawns. It wouldn't move.  
  
"Harry," said Ron, patiently. "That's a bishop."  
  
"Yeah..." said Harry.  
  
"Bishops can't move like that."  
  
"Oh," said Harry. "Well, where was I?"  
  
Ron rolled his eyes.  
  
"Honestly, Harry, you're worse than Hermione." Ron said. Then he laughed at the fake look of indignation Hermione gave him, but then she and Ginny laughed as well. Harry faked a laugh a little bit. Then Ron moved his bishop diagonally and it took out Harry's queen. Ginny and Hermione made identical looks of sympathy.  
  
"Hmm..." Harry said, wondering what to do next. Then all of their attention went into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was washing the floor, when they heard her scream.  
  
They all rushed into the kitchen to see Mrs. Weasley breathing rapidly, a hand over her chest, and... Albus Dumbledore.  
  
"I'm very sorry, Molly, I never meant to startle you," he was saying in his deep, soothing voice. "Hello Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger," he said then, turning his attention to the new people in the room. "Your summer's going well?"   
  
They all nodded, quite as surprised as Mrs. Weasley to see their headmaster appear in the kitchen.  
  
"I've just come for a word with you, Molly. I think, a cup of tea." He magicked two cups and saucers from the cupboard, and filled them with tea from the end of his wand, then conjured up a plate of crumpets. "You do not mind, do you?"  
  
"Oh, no, not at all, Headmaster," said Mrs. Weasley, sitting down opposite Dumbledore.  
  
"Please, call me Albus."  
  
"Albus," she said.  
  
The two of them sat in silence for a few moments, Dumbledore drinking his tea, Molly sitting expectantly, with curiosity.   
  
"Go back to your game, all of you," she said suddenly, realizing that Albus wanted to talk to *her,* and probably without the rest of them in the room.  
  
"Ah, chess," said Albus. "I challenge you to a game, Ron, once I've finished speaking with your mother." Ron's ears tinged pink, and he and the rest of them left the room.  
  
Mrs. Weasley and Professor Dumbledore sat quietly again for a minute, and then Mrs. Weasley said, "What did you want to discuss, Albus?"  
  
"Ah, yes," Albus said, setting down his tea. "It's about Harry."  
  
Mrs. Weasley sighed.  
  
"I understand he's been taking Dreamless Sleep potion?"  
  
"Why, yes, Headmaster, he has."  
  
"You must take him off the potion immediately."  
  
Mrs. Weasley gasped.  
  
"Headmaster, surely--"  
  
Albus held up a hand to silence her.  
  
"Molly, I must insist. Dreamless Sleep potion is good in the short term, but over long term... he may suffer from dilusions, confusion, and hallucinations."   
  
Molly gasped.  
  
"Dreams are very important to our sanity, Molly. And although the dreams Harry's been having may do more harm than good, I'm afraid that he must dream sometimes."  
  
"But Albus..."  
  
"I recommend that, for tonight, we give him ordinary sleep potion, so that he must have his own dreams. He may go back on the Dreamless Sleep potion tomorrow, but he should have ordinary sleep potion every fourth day."  
  
Molly had a pained look on her face, a sad look in her eyes.  
  
"Professor..." she pleaded.  
  
"Molly, I know you want the best for him. Which is why we must do this. I know it will hurt him now," he paused, a pained look on his face, his eyes lacking their usual twinkle, "but it will harm him more in the long run not to do so."  
  
They were silent for a moment. Then Molly sighed and nodded her head.  
  
"Yes, Professor. I suppose it will be for the best." 


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: this is not mine!  
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Dumbledore stayed the rest of the day. He lost brilliantly to Ron three times at chess, and visited Mr. Weasley when he came home. Percy was most surprised to see him, but still he retreated up to his room to be the workaholic that he was.  
  
That night, Harry went up to bed and waited for Mrs. Weasley to come with his usual dreamless sleep potion, talking with Ron and Hermione. Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore appeared at the door.  
  
"Professor?" Harry asked, surprised to see his headmaster there.  
  
"Hello, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, taking the goblet from Mrs. Weasley's hands. She looked somewhat less cheery than normal, a fact that Harry immediately picked up on, but didn't mention.  
  
Dumbledore handed the goblet to Harry, and, after looking curiously at his headmaster, he began to drink.  
  
Harry immediately spat the drink back into the goblet.  
  
"This isn't Dreamless Sleep potion!" he said.  
  
"No, Harry," said Dumbledore, shaking his head. "It is ordinary sleeping potion."  
  
"But what will--" Harry protested. Dumbledore raised a hand to silence him. Ron and Hermione looked shocked and furious next to him.  
  
"Professor," Hermione began, but she, too, was silenced.   
  
"I must ask you to drink all of this, Harry," said Dumbledore solumnly.  
  
Harry stared at him, disbelieving.  
  
"I won't," he said.  
  
"Please, Harry-" Dumbledore began.  
  
"No," said Harry. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I won't -" He was silened by Professor Dumbledore placing the goblet to Harry's lips, and tipping it back steadily, forcing him to drink it all.  
  
"I'm sorry I had to do that, Harry," he said, before Harry fell asleep.  
  
"Professor," said Ron incredulously, finding his voice.  
  
"Shh," hissed his mother. "Out in the hall, both of you." They left and assembled in the hall outside Ron's room, and Mrs. Weasley closed the door.  
  
"Mum--" said Ron, but was quieted by her serious/warning look.  
  
"Ron," said Mrs. Weasley, "I'm going to have to ask you to sleep on the couch tonight."  
  
"All right, Mum," said Ron, not protesting because of Mrs. Weasley's expression, but he and Hermione shared a confused look. Hermione went to Ginny's room, Ron went downstairs, Mrs. Weasley followed him, and Dumbledore muttered a silencing spell around Ron's room and went inside.  
  
Dumbledore sat in the corner of the room, not looking forward to the task of observing Harry's tortured sleep. He was sleeping soundly for now, but he knew that would soon end...  
  
*Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.  
  
"Where are we?" he said.  
  
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.  
  
They were standing in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.  
  
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry.  
  
"Did anyone tell *you* the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.  
  
"Nope," said Harry. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"  
  
"I dunno," said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"  
  
"Yeah," said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him.  
  
They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.  
  
"Someone's coming," he said suddenly.   
  
They watched the figure drawing nearer. From the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying looked like a baby...or was it merely a bundle of robes?  
  
Harry lowered his want slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure.  
  
It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them.  
  
And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. His knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open.  
  
From far away, above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say, *"Kill the spare."*  
  
*Oh, no, oh, no,* thought Harry frantically in his sleep.  
  
A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: *"Avada Kedarva!"**  
  
Harry didn't wake up. He couldn't, drugged up with the potion as he was.  
  
Dumbledore swallowed, watching Harry's cruel sleep. He waited for more.  
  
*"Harry," a voice was saying. "Harry."  
  
Harry sat up on the dark grass he had been lying on.  
  
"Harry," the voice called out again.  
  
"Cho?" Harry asked.  
  
"Harry, it's not your fault."  
  
"Yes it is! I'm so sorry."  
  
"No, I don't blame you."  
  
"But I do! All of it is my fault."  
  
"Harry, no, Harry! Harry! Hey, Harry!" Cho had morphed into Colin Creevy, his smiling star-struck face gazed upon Harry.  
  
"Colin, go away," said Harry grumpily.  
  
"Harry, Harry, can I take your picture Harry? Can I?"  
  
"*No,* Colin."  
  
"It's not all your fault, you know. Cedric killed himself. You know that. He didn't have to come."  
  
"But I didn't have to offer."  
  
A whooshing noise, a flash of green light, high, cold, cruel laughter, and Colin Creevy fell down dead.  
  
"Colin!"  
  
"It's not your fault," said the hollow voice of Colin's shadow, that was rising out of him, then floated away.  
  
The dream shifted to a dark, dusty room seen in a dream, a year before.  
  
"We must not forget Harry Potter," hissed Voldemort.  
  
"Yes, master," came the voices of the death eaters Wormtail, Macnair the executioner, Crabbe, and Goyle.  
  
"Crabbe, Goyle."  
  
"Yes, master," their fumbling voices said.  
  
"Get out, I won't have you ruining my plans."  
  
"Yes, master," they said again, and left.  
  
"Now..." said Voldemort. "How shall we get to Harry Potter?"  
  
"Well, sir, perhaps you could just, er, not kill him right away, and, er, try to, er..."  
  
"Shut up, Wormtail! Quit wasting my time! But I do see what you're getting at..." Voldemort said. "We'll kill off somebody close to him. Make him suffer before he dies. Make him realize he was foolish not to take my side." He laughed evilly.  
  
"My Lord, if I may speak," Macnair said.  
  
"Yes." said Voldemort.  
  
"I read... in the Daily Prophet last spring. I kept the article in case it were to be of importance." Macnair said, reaching a hand into his robes and pulling out a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, he said, "It says here... his close friend, Colin Creevy." He handed it to the Dark Lord. "If I may suggest him."  
  
"Excellent, Macnair, you have pleased me. Let us torture him before we kill. We shall do it before his return to Hogwarts, when that muggle-loving fool, Albus Dumbledore, won't have him right under his nose."  
  
Wormtail and Macnair gave their murmurs of approval.  
  
Dumbledore sat uneasily, watching Harry sleep. Really, it is good for him. I know that. I just wish there were another way.  
  
Voldemort's wand began to emit echoing screams of pain...then -- Voldemort's red eyes widened with shock -- a dense, smoky hand flew out of the tip of it and vanished...more shouts of pain...and then something much larger began to blossom from Voldemort's wand tip, a great, grayish something, that looked as though it were made of the solidest, densest smoke....It was a head...now a chest and arms...the torso of Cedric Diggory. His form emerged in its entirety from the end of Voldemort's wand, as though it were squeezing itself out of a very narrow tunnel...and this shade of Cedric stood up, and spoke.  
  
"Hold on, Harry," it said.  
  
Its voice was distant and echoing. Harry looked at Voldemort...his wide red eyes were still shocked...he had no more expected this than Harry had...and, very dimly, Harry heard the frightened yells of the Death Eaters, prowling around the edges of the golden dome....  
  
More screams of pain from the wand...and then something else emerged from its tip...the dense shadow of a second head, quickly followed by arms and torso...an old man Harry had seen only in a dream was now pushing himself out of the end of the wand just as Cedric had done...and his shadow fell next to Cedric's, and surveyed Harry and Voldemort, and the golden web, and the connected wands, with mild surprise, leaning on his walking stick....  
  
"He was a real wizard, then?" the old man said, his eyes on Voldemort. "Killed me, that one did....You fight him, boy...."  
  
But already, yet another head was emerging...and this head, gray as a smoky statue, was a woman's....Harry, both arms shaking now as he fought to keep his wand still, saw her drop to the ground and straighten up like the others, staring...  
  
"Don't let go, now!" cried the shadow of Bertha Jorkins. "Don't let him get you, Harry -- don't let go!"  
  
She and the other two shadowy figures began to pace around the inner walls of the golden web, while the Death Eaters flitted around the outside of it...and Voldemort's dead victims whispered as they circled the duelers, whispered words of encouragement to Harry, and hissed words Harry couldn't hear to Voldemort.  
  
And now another head was emerging from the tip of Voldemort's wand, and Harry knew when he saw it who it would be. The smoky shadow of a young woman with long hair fell to the ground as Bertha had done, straightened up, and looked at him...and Harry, his arms shaking madly now, looked back into the ghostly face of his mother.  
  
"Your father's coming..." she said quietly. "Hold on for your father...it will be all right...hold on..."  
  
And he came...first his head, then his body...tall and untidy-haired like Harry, the smoky, shadowy form of James Potter blossomed from the end of Voldemort's wand, fell to the ground, and straightened like his wife. He walked close to Harry, looking down at him, and he spoke in the same distant, echoing voice as the others, but quietly, so that Voldemort, his face now livid with fear as his victims prowled around him, could not hear....  
  
"When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments...but we will give you time...you must get to the Portkey, it will return you to Hogwarts...do you understand, Harry?"  
  
"Yes," Harry gasped, fighting now to keep a hold on his wand, which was slipping and sliding beneath his fingers.  
  
"Harry..." whispered the figure of Cedric, "take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents...."  
  
"I will," said Harry.  
  
"Do it now," whispered his father's voice, "be ready to run...do it now...."  
  
"NOW!" Harry yelled; he didn't think he could have held on for another moment anyway -- he pulled his wand upward with an almighty wrench, and the long thread broke; the cage of light vanished, the phoenix song died -- but the shadowy figures of Voldemort's victims did not disappear -- they were closing in upon Voldemort, shielding Harry from his gaze --  
  
And Harry ran as he had never run in his life, knocking two stunened Death Eaters aside as he passed; he zigzagged behind headstones, feeling their curses following him, hearing them hit the headstones -- he was dodging curses and graves, pelting toward Cedric's body, no longer aware of the pain in his leg, his whole being concentrated on what he had to do --  
  
"*Stun him!*" he heard Voldemort scream.  
  
Ten feet from Cedric, Harry dived behind a marble angel to avoid the jets of red light and saw the tip of its wing shatter as the spells hit it. Gripping his wand more tightly, he dashed out from behind the angel --  
  
"*Impedimenta!*" he bellowed, pointing his wand wildly over his shoulder at the Death Eaters running at him.  
  
From a muffled yell, he thought he had stopped at least one of them, but there was no time to stop and look; he jumped over the cup and dived as he heard more wand blasts behind him; more jets of light flew over his head as he fell, stretching out his hand to grap Cedric's arm --  
  
"Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!" shrieked Voldemort.  
  
Harry's hand had closed on Cedric's wrist; one tombstone stood between him and Voldemort, but Cedric was too heavy to carry, and the cup was out of reach --  
  
Voldemort's red eyes flamed in the darkness. harry saw his mouth curl into a smile, saw him raise his wand.  
  
"*Accio!*" Harry yelled, pointing his wand at the Triwizard Cup.  
  
It flew into the air and soared toward him. Harry caught it by the handle --  
  
He head Voldemort's scream of fury at the same moment that he felt the jerk behind his navel that meant the Portkey had worked -- it was speeding him away in a whirl of wind and color, and Cedric along with him....They were going back.  
  
Harry stirred, Dumbledore sat up straighter.   
  
Harry was in a large and noisy room, hovering over something...a casket. From what he saw and heard, he could tell he was at a funeral... his own funeral.  
  
Looking around the room, Harry saw everyone from Hogwarts. Dumbledore was joking with Professor McGonagall. Draco Malfoy looked as if he'd never been happier in his life. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were there, dancing to no music, absolutely thrilled. Everyone there looked so *happy.*  
  
"Good riddance!" Harry heard Hagrid boom.   
  
This was his funeral. No one missed Harry at all, in fact, they were glad to have him gone, no one listening to the service. It made Harry feel worse than he'd ever felt before. Even Ron and Hermione didn't seem to care.  
  
No one cared that he was dead. They were glad, because he was the one who caused Voldemort to return.  
  
Harry floated away, into the clouds, where he stopped.  
  
"Hello, Harry!" said a cheerful voice. Harry looked around this other world, this world on top of the clouds.  
  
"Dad!" Harry shouted. "Mum!" he said, seeing the woman on his father's right. They all hugged.  
  
"We're so glad to see you," said Lily, her green eyes all teary. Harry was so happy that he was crying too. All three of them were crying with the joy of being together at last, and Harry felt loved for the first time of his life.  
  
"We missed you so much," James said.   
  
Dumbledore watched Harry sleep. Daylight was starting, and Harry's sleep had calmed. He was sleeping easily now, smiling slightly. Dumbledore gave a small smile at this temporary relief. Harry soon woke up, not remembering any of his dreams, yet they still weighed on his subconcious. Dumbledore, seeing Harry starting to wake up, quietly left the room, undid the Silencing Spell, and apparated away. Harry got up to start the day. 


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Not mine! All belongs to JKR, WB, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, etc.!(anyone else lucky enough) Also, I probably credit the basic idea to fanfic people out there who started this whole suicidal angst thing that I am now hooked on and so... I write.  
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Harry was kept off the Dreamless Sleep potion every third night, as Dumbledore had ordered, much to the unhappiness of Mrs. Weasley. It worked fairly well, though. Harry was kept free from nightmares two thirds of the time, and remained quite sane, although privately quite depressed and suicidal. Harry always dreaded those third nights. He couldn't even try to stay awake all night because Mrs. Weasley would give him a bit of potion to start him off asleep. Often, though, he would wake up in the middle of the night and sit curled up with his knees to his chest on the cot for hours until the sun rose.   
  
Tonight was a Third Night. Ron had already gone downstairs and settled himself on the couch to sleep, as he did on these nights. Harry always felt guilty and a bit embarrassed because of this, and also when he heard Mrs. Weasley mutter the silencing spell on the room. He knew, though, that Dumbledore had a reason, though Harry couldn't think what it could be.   
  
Mrs. Weasley left, and Harry dreamed.  
  
Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.  
  
"Where are we?" he said.  
  
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.  
  
They were standing in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.  
  
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry.  
  
"Did anyone tell *you* the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.  
  
"Nope," said Harry. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"  
  
"I dunno," said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"  
  
"Yeah," said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him.  
  
They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.  
  
"Someone's coming," he said suddenly.   
  
They watched the figure drawing nearer. From the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying looked like a baby...or was it merely a bundle of robes?  
  
Harry lowered his want slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure.  
  
It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them.  
  
And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. His knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open.  
  
His dream swirled, changed. Harry saw the figures in cloaks, and knew at once what was coming, but couldn't wake himself up.  
  
Harry heard the high, cold, evil laugh, his scar burning. He could do nothing but watch.  
  
They silently crept into the house and up the stairs. There were some muggle photographs on the walls. Voldemort and the Death Eaters reached the top of the stairs, turned, and creeped down a small hallway. Voldemort paused, reading a sign on one of the doors, then went inside.  
  
They were in a young wizard's room. There were schoolbooks, parchment, quills - everywhere. The young wizard was sleeping in his bed.  
  
One of the Death Eaters muttered a Silencing Charm on the room.  
  
"Wake up!" hissed Voldemort, then hit the boy with the Cruciatus.  
  
Harry's ears were filled with screams, and his scar was paining him terribly. Voldemort released the curse, and Harry saw the boy's face.  
  
Colin Creevy.  
  
"Hello, close friend of Harry Potter," Voldemort said slowly, silkily, dangerously quietly. Colin's eyes were round, and very afraid.  
  
"You-know-who," he whispered finally, after breathing frantically for several seconds. Voldemort laughed again.  
  
"Yes, mudblood, I am Lord Voldemort." He paused momentarily. "*Crucio!*"  
  
The screaming filled Harry's ears again for several minutes. Finally, it stopped.  
  
Colin lie on the floor, shaking, glistening with sweat in the pale moonlight that lit the room eerily. He stared boldly into the face of Lord Voldemort, and, beneath the tortured look he wore on his face, there was something else... anger.  
  
Colin reached up to his dresser for his wand, and nearly grabbed it. His fingers two inches away, it suddenly flew through the air and into one of Voldemort's white hands.  
  
"I have quite enjoyed this little game, mudblood. Shall we play again?" Voldemort waited, enjoying the look of terror on Colin's face. "Crucio!" Voldemort shrieked, then laughed with the pleasure that came with watching Colin there on the floor, listening to him scream...  
  
It went on for so long. Too long. Harry tried and tried to wake himself up, but couldn't. Finally, after so long, it stopped. A thin smile came across Voldemort's snake-like face, and his red eyes glowed into the darkness.  
  
"*Avada Kedarva!*" he screeched. There was the whooshing sound, the flash of green light, and Colin Creevy lay dead on the floor of his bedroom in the middle of the night.   
  
*Wake up, wake up, wake up!* Harry told himself frantically, as Voldemort and the Death Eaters left, and Harry was forced to stare at the lifeless form of Colin. Harry went to the window, and saw them walk out to the front lawn, then apparate away. They liked doing this, apparating from the front lawn. Harry woke up.  
  
  
  
Harry sat curled up on the cot, wide green eyes staring into the darkness, catching his breath. He knew what he had just seen had actually happened. Colin Creevy was dead. Sure, he was annoying, but he didn't deserve to *die.* Why?  
  
Then something from the dream came back to Harry, hitting him with the force of a semi truck.  
  
*"Hello, close friend of Harry Potter."*  
  
Harry gasped for breath. *It was because of me. I killed him! And that's why his family got to live.*  
  
Harry got up off the cot, ignoring the clock that said it was only three am. He stumbled into the bathroom and threw up.   
  
*It was me, it was me, I killed him!* Harry thought miserably. *Voldemort killed Colin because of me!!!* He squinted his eyes shut out of misery and leaned his head forward against the wall of the cold shower, where he stood, the icy water running over his miserable self until five am, when Arthur pounded on the door. Harry shut off the water, dressed, and left.  
  
He drifted downstairs. He didn't know why. He sat quietly in a chair next to Ron still sleeping on the couch, and stared quietly off into space until six thirty, when some distant noise upstairs brought him from his trance.  
  
I'll go flying, Harry decided. He got his broom, and went outside.  
  
Harry ascended into the air, still dwelling on the dream, letting the horrors sink in.  
  
I killed Colin. Colin's dead. He's dead, because of me! Well, that's two names directly to my list, him and Cedric. Not to mention all those other people. All dead, because of me, because I helped Voldemort return. I did this to all those people!  
  
And here I'm with the Weasleys, endangering them, and they're going to so much trouble over me, over a murderer! It isn't fair to them. It's embarassing them going to so much trouble for me, though I'm grateful for it, I guess. They shouldn't do that! I don't deserve anything! I don't deserve to live. I don't *want* to live.  
  
Harry casually glanced down. The answer came to him. He turned his broom to the left, and flew up, up to the top of the Weasley house. He landed on the roof, and set down his Firebolt carefully. He walked slowly to the edge of the roof, looking down...  
  
He was so high up! It must be forty, fifty feet, at least.   
  
Albus Dumbledore apparated to the Weasley kitchen.  
  
"Oh! Hello, professor," said the startled Mrs. Weasley, still in her nightdress, having just come downstairs to prepare breakfast.   
  
"Hello, Molly," he said, smiling kindly at the startled woman. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I just stopped by to talk to Harry, see how he's doing. Another night without the potion." He looked pointedly at Molly here. She nodded, indicating that she did, indeed, refuse Harry the potion, for his sanity's sake.  
  
"Is he up yet?"  
  
"Yes, Arthur said he's seen him."  
  
"Very well," Albus said, then went into the living room.  
  
It was the solution to everything. It was perfect. It would be so freeing. Harry smiled slightly, his first sincere smile in over a month.  
  
"Why, hello, Arthur." Mr. Weasley looked up, surprised.  
  
"Albus! Hello!" he said, smiling and leaping up to shake his hand. "What brings you here?"  
  
"I've come to speak with Harry, see how he's been doing. You saw him this morning?"  
  
"Yes, yes I did. I wonder where he's off to now. Probably in Ron's room." They then went upstairs.  
  
Harry felt so exhilarated up there on the roof. A gentle breeze ran through his messy black hair. He was happy for the first time in weeks, happy because he was going to end it all, to end his life.  
  
Ron and Hermione were sitting on Ron's bed when they heard two pairs of footsteps coming up the stairs, and they parted quickly, Hermione moving to the floor just before the door opened.  
  
"Hello, Dad. Professor Dumbledore!" Ron exclaimed, open-mouthed. He realized this and closed it, then remembered how the Headmaster arrived several days earlier, and figured he wanted to talk to Harry.  
  
"Have you two seen Harry?" Arthur asked, confirming Ron's thoughts.   
  
Harry spread his arms wide, opened them like wings, closed his eyes, and turned his head to the sky. He stood there like this enjoying the feeling. He was doing his own small part to bring justice to the world, by ridding it of himself. His lungs filled with air and he felt the wonderful bittersweet pain that comes with suicide. He stood there, arms outstretched, awaiting his pleasant leap out of this world.  
  
"I'm so happy I'll be seeing you again," Harry whispered, eyes closed, head turned toward the sky, to the wind, speaking to his parents. He lowered his arms to his sides, opened his eyes, and slowly moved his head down to look straight ahead again.  
  
"His broom's gone, he probably went flying," Hermione said.   
  
"Shall we look for him now?" Arthur asked Dumbledore. He paused.  
  
"All right," he said. "Might as well."  
  
Again Harry happily looked down. Breathing quickly, Harry grinned, looked in front of him, gently closed his eyes, and dived off the roof.  
  
He moved his arms out like they were before. Everything was going in slow motion. Harry felt like he was flying, only without a broom. He heard the air whoosh past his ears, felt it go roughly through his hair. He enjoyed it's feel against his face, which was facing the earth.  
  
Then, everything went black. 


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: NOT MINE!  
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Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the Weasley's front door, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, Ron, and Hermione. He looked up one way in search of Harry, didn't see him, and looked in another direction, this one closer to nearly straight up.   
  
It happened in a split second. There was Harry Potter, standing at the very edge of the Weasley roof, and diving off, obviously intentionally and very broom-free. Albus was the only one to see him dive off, but everyone watched him fall.  
  
Albus was very quick with a wand. He pulled it out and performed the same spell he had done in Harry's third year, when Harry fell off his Nimbus. Only this time his fall wasn't an accident.   
  
They all watched in horror as Harry fell, spreading out his arms and looking vaguely happy. Their only hope was Dumbledore's spell, which was slowing Harry's fall a bit, but not nearly enough for comfort. Dumbledore closed his eyes and the other three turned away as Harry hit the ground.   
  
  
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Someone was crying. Another was trying hard not to.   
  
Pain. Not the worst ever, but terrible all the same.  
  
I don't want to open my eyes. I like this dark...  
  
But light was flooding into the room, warming it, despite the chill which its occupants felt.  
  
Harry resigned himself to the light and opened his eyes slightly. No one seemed to notice until Harry rolled his head painfully to the right to look around the room.  
  
"Harry!" gasped Mrs. Weasley, holding back tears. Hermione looked up so quickly she might have got whiplash, Harry thought, revealing her tearstained face. Ron had been trying to comfort her, and was looking pale.  
  
"Harry," he said weakly. Harry was a bit confused as to what everyone seemed so upset over. He wanted to reach for his glasses, but it hurt too much to try.   
  
"What's up?" he asked quietly. Mrs. Weasley let out a gasping sob.  
  
"Nothing, dear. It's all right, you're awake now, it's okay," she said.  
  
Well, *obviously* I'm awake, thought Harry. I'd really rather not be, considering how painful this is. *Oh.* Well, considering how very much pain I am in, I reckon I got injured somehow... badly.   
  
"No, really," said Harry, not believing all this upset could possibly ever be over him. Mrs. Weasley gasped another sob and grasped his hand, saying nothing.  
  
"How long was I out?" he asked quietly, after a couple of minutes.  
  
"Two days," spoke up Ron, after a moment. Harry groaned, more from pain than from what Ron said, and closed his eyes.  
  
The next few days were hard, as Harry healed. Madam Pomfrey came to heal him, as she was the best witch for the job, and was her usual self, fussing over him day and night. Harry got well a few days before the Hogwarts term began, and Madam Pomfrey reluctantly left her only patient to enjoy her last few days of the summer holidays.  
  
Harry was annoyed how his friends (and everyone else in the Weasley household, for that matter) looked wearily at him in his final few days of holiday. Harry had since remembered what had got him in this situation in the first place, but didn't see how he possibly could have survived the fall, and deeply wished he hadn't.  
  
"Why'd you do it, Harry?" Ron asked quietly, two afternoons before returning to Hogwarts. He and Hermione looked at him earnestly. He gave a silent sigh and looked away from them, never answering. He didn't want to talk about it, and certainly didn't want to trouble them with his troubles. It would be of no use.  
  
  
Mrs. Weasley hugged Harry, embarrassing him, and then he got on the Hogwarts Express. He, Ron, and Hermione waved her goodbye, and then found a compartment.  
  
The three of them sat in silence for a minute.  
  
"Don't tell anyone what happened, okay?" Harry asked quietly. Ron and Hermione nodded solumnly. They sat silently for another minute.  
  
"And will you please not worry about me?" A pained expression came over Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Harry..." Hermione began, but Harry sighed loudly and that shut her up. Momentarily.  
  
"Harry you know we can't help it," she said. "After what you did--"  
  
"Will you *please* not talk about it?" Harry snapped, but quietly, and they didn't get their feelings hurt.  
  
"We have to sometime," Hermione said simply. Ron looked as though he might rather not. Harry crossed his arms and leaned deeper into the seat.   
  
Twenty minutes later, Ron had started a conversation about Quidditch to ease the uncomfortable silence. The glass door of their compartment slid open.  
  
"Look, if it isn't Potty, Weasel, and the mudblood." Ron leaped up, fists clenched, but Harry and Hermione automatically grabbed the back of Ron's robes and held him back.  
  
"Well, Potter," he spat the name, "my father says you still haven't joined our side yet. And here I thought you might have come to your senses by now and left the loosing side." Harry and Hermione tightened their grip on Ron's robes, but he broke free, regardless. Ron leaped at Malfoy, drew his wand, and hexed him, viciously. Crabbe and Goyle immediately came down over Ron, but he hexed Crabbe, then Goyle, with the same he used on Malfoy. He then stalked back into the compartment and slammed the door with such fury that it broke(as it had the year before). Hermione looked both impressed and distressed, and fixed the door, while congratulating Ron with Harry.  
  
Over a half hour later, Neville came into their compartment.  
  
"Hello, everyone," he said cheerfully. "Who did this?" He gestured to the three figures lying on the floor outside of the compartment.  
  
"Ron," said Harry. Neville grinned.   
  
"Well, great job, Ron, I'd never be able to do it. I heard the glass break earlier. You must've been really upset."   
  
"Oh, I was," he growled, eyes flared.   
  
"What'd he do?" Neville asked slightly nervously.  
  
"He said his father said that I was on 'the losing side' because I haven't joined Voldemort," Harry stated calmly, everyone with him flinching at the name. "It was okay, Ron, I could've handled it. You did do a brilliant job, though." Ron turned a deep crimson.  
  
"Wow, that's pretty upsetting. By the way, have any of you seen Trevor?" They all shook their heads. "Well, I'd better go look for him then. Bye." He smiled at them, and left. 


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue(don't own this disclaimer either, just so you know)  
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Harry, Hermione, and Ron got off the Hogwarts Express and into one of the horseless carraiges to take them into Hogwarts. They started off towards the school. Harry was sitting quietly staring off into space. After a few minutes he spoke.  
  
"Colin's dead." Ron and Hermione jumped, gasped, and gaped at Harry. They were surprised, not only by what he said, but by the suddeness of his speech.  
  
"What?" Ron whispered after a moment.  
  
"He's dead," Harry said shortly. Ron and Hermione just stared open-mouthed at Harry, at each other, back at Harry, back at each other.They sat in shocked silence for the next few minutes, at which time they reached the school.  
  
As they went into the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione gasped again. Harry had no reaction.   
  
Instead of the usual banners decorating the Great Hall, there were banners of black, the same as when Cedric had died. Other students noticed this, too.  
  
The three sat wordlessly at the Gryffindor table. Harry just stared blankly ahead. Ron and Hermione looked down the Gryffindor table and saw the second-year Dennis Creevy looking pale and staring at nothing much the way Harry was doing.  
  
The Sorting Hat was brought out, and the first years were all sorted.  
  
Dumbledore stood at the High Table, and the Great Hall was silenced.  
  
"The beginning of another year," he said. "As you may have noticed, we have a change of decoration this year. This is because of a terrible event that took place only a week ago. I am deeply saddend to tell you that Colin Creevy is no longer with us. I am also deeply saddened to say that he was targeted by Lord Voldemort." Everyone except Harry in the Great Hall gasped in unison. Cho Chang's eyes were wet. Harry made no reaction at all.  
  
Dumbledore went on with his speech, and everyone toasted to Colin Creevy. People weren't so sad as they were when Cedric died, but again they saw just the kind of senseless cruelty Voldemort was capable of.  
  
"Let the feast begin," Dumbledore said at last, after the usual start-of-term announcements.  
  
Nobody ate as much as they usually would, perhaps with the exception of a few Slytherins. Harry ate nothing at all, just continued staring at nothing. Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous glances.  
  
After the feast, as Harry and Ron started up to Gryffindor tower(Hermione went up earlier, because she was a prefect and had to show the first years where to go), Professor McGonagall approached Harry.  
  
"Mr. Potter, Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak with you." Harry felt as though ice was just slipped into the pit of his stomach. He wordlessly followed her, and Ron went up to Gryffindor tower alone.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, smiling slightly. He happened to be standing in front of the open doorway behind the stone gargoyle when Harry and Professor McGonagall arrived.  
  
"I will leave him here, Professor," Professor McGonagall said, and left.  
  
"Come, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, and they went up the moving staircase and into Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore sat at his desk, and Harry sat across from him in a chair, nervously.  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore began. Harry gulped. "Colin was murdered on one of the nights you weren't on Dreamless Sleep potion. That leads me to believe that... you saw it happen." He sighed. Harry looked at his lap, then up at Dumbledore. He swallowed, and nodded. Dumbledore sighed again.   
  
"I am sorry that you have to witness all of this. I perceive, however, that... Colin's death is weighing on you particularly heavily." Harry didn't respond. Dumbledore sighed again. "I would like to ask you to talk about it."  
  
Harry stared in horror at Dumbledore.  
  
"I can't," he said sadly. Dumbledore looked at him sadly.  
  
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, after a moment. Harry swallowed, closed his eyes, and nodded. Dumbledore took a deep breath.  
  
"I am sorry, Harry. *Please* come to me *anytime* if you ever change your mind." He gave Harry his characteristic gaze. Harry squirmed a little bit.   
  
"You may go now, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. Harry stood up, and nodded.  
  
"Thank you, Professor," he said quietly, and left. 


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: not mine  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The next few weeks were quite uncomfortable for Harry. Ron and Hermione kept their word, however, and didn't tell a soul about what had happened. Harry was grateful for it, and, too, for there being so many people around at Hogwarts that Ron and Hermione rarely got a chance to try and talk to him about it.  
  
Two of every three nights Harry would find a goblet of Dreamless Sleep potion within the hangings of his bed, levatating so as not to spill. Obviously Dumbledore thought it best for all aspects of the matter to be kept as private as possible, for Harry's sake. Every third day Harry would go to bed in the afternoon, right after classes. He'd close the hangings on his bed and place a Silencing Spell around it. Ron and Hermione would cover for him, and eventually started doing the same, so they could sit in front of the common room fire in the middle of the night and talk to Harry, trying to his mind off his dreams.  
  
  
"Professor." Severus Snape came to Professor Dumbledore's office one day.  
  
"Yes, Severus?"  
  
"Harry Potter should be taken off the potion soon." Dumbledore looked troubled at this.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Positive."  
  
"How soon?"  
  
"A week, at most." Albus nodded resignedly, and Snape left.  
  
  
"Harry!" Harry turned around, and saw Cho Chang catching up to him.  
  
"Harry," she said again. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"  
  
"Sure," Harry said, surprised. He followed her next to a wall, in an emptier portion of the corridor. Why did Cho Chang want to talk to him?  
  
"Erm... I- I just wanted to thank you for everything you did for Cedric." Harry raised his eyebrows.  
  
"But... what?"  
  
"I wanted to thank you for everything you did for him. Bringing his body back, telling him about the dragons." Harry started to shake his head, not believing what he was hearing, knowing it was his fault Cedric's body had to be taken back, not a living Cedric.  
  
"It's not your fault, Harry."   
  
"Yes, i- it is, I'm sorry..."  
  
"No, it isn't," she said, shaking her head at him. "It's not your fault at all."  
  
"Yes it is! I'm so sorry..."  
  
"*No,* Harry, it's not your fault. Remember that. Maybe we can talk about this later? I have to get to Charms..." Harry looked around and noticed the corridors were steadily emptying, and nodded.  
  
"Okay," she gave him a small smile. "Meet me... in the Charms corridor, at 7:30. That okay with you?" Harry just nodded.   
  
"Okay. Bye," said Cho, smiling at him. He gave her a small smile in return.  
  
"Bye." Going their separate ways, Harry thought how the meeting gave him the odd feeling of deja vu.  
  
After dinner, Harry tried to get away from Ron and Hermione. This was difficult, as they'd taken to staying nearby him at all times, for obvious reasons.  
  
"Harry, where are you going?" Hermione demanded. Harry sighed. What to say? He decided on the truth.  
  
"I'm going to meet Cho Chang," he said. Ron grinned.   
  
"Ooooooooooh, Harry..." he teased.  
  
"*NO,* Ron," said Harry sternly. He rolled his eyes.  
  
"All right, go, go!" he said. He knew Harry was probably telling the truth because he saw Cho pull him aside earlier that day. Ron laughed as Harry left the common room.  
  
Cho was already sitting on the floor in the Charms hallway when Harry got there. She stood up.  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hullo."  
  
"Do you think we should go outside? I'm pretty sure it wasn't such a good idea to meet here."   
  
"Probably," said Harry, and off they went. They didn't talk until they were outside for a bit.  
  
"It's such a nice evening," Cho said, as they walked by the edge of the lake. Harry nodded almost imperceptably. Cho sat on the water's edge, and Harry followed suit.  
  
"Harry, it's not your fault that Cedric died," Cho said after a few moments. Harry sighed.  
  
"Yes it is," he said. He glanced at her, then looked away, not being able to stand knowing what pain he must have caused her.  
  
"No, it isn't, Harry. You have to see that." Harry said nothing.  
  
"I know it must be hard for you, seeing what you saw. But you can't blame yourself." Harry looked sadly into Cho's deep brown eyes.   
  
"It is my fault."  
  
"Harry, how could it be your fault?" Harry broke eye contact and looked away.  
  
"If it weren't for me, he wouldn't have been there." Cho looked at him curiously.  
  
"I told him to take the cup with me," Harry elaborated. A bit of understanding flashed across Cho's face and eyes.  
  
"Harry, you didn't know," she said sadly. "You *couldn't* have known." Harry said nothing for a moment.  
  
"It's still my fault." Cho sighed.  
  
"No, Harry, no, no, no, it isn't!" Silence. A sigh.  
  
"All right. It wasn't my fault," Harry said, not believing it at all, but just saying it to stop this uncomfortable back-and-forth conversation.  
  
Cho looked at him searchingly for a moment.  
  
"All right. I'm not sure I believe you, but all right." They stayed where they were, just sitting quietly enjoying the beautiful evening. Cho wanted to stay outside, and the silence was uncomfortable, so she tried to talk about other things.  
  
"So... how was your summer?" she asked. Harry made a sound that clearly said "awful," and Cho immediately knew she had chosen the wrong thing to say.   
  
"Mine was all right, I guess," she said, then looked for something to change the subject.  
  
"Who do you think your new Quidditch captain will be?" She knew Oliver Wood had left two years earlier. She also remembered that Cedric had been the captain of the Hufflepuff team. Oops.   
  
"I don't know," he said. "Angelina Johnson would be good." This forced conversation is not the best, thought Harry. Cedric was Quidditch captain for Hufflepuff. Was. He did like sitting there with Cho, though. This might have made a romantic date, had it been a date, and had the circumstances been different. Cho searched for something new to say.  
  
"Played Quidditch lately?"  
  
"Bout a month ago," said Harry. Cho nodded.  
  
"I played all summer, with my cousins. They stayed with us. It was nice, 'cos I'm and only child." Harry looked at her.  
  
"I'm an only child too. But my cousin isn't nice."  
  
"I'm sorry," Cho said. She actually looked a bit sorry, too.   
  
"It's okay, I guess, I'm used to it." Cho remembered Harry's life story, and knew how very used to it he was. Living with the muggles since he was one.   
  
"What's it like with the muggles?" she asked, not exactly tactfully. Harry didn't really mind.  
  
"Awful. Well, just living with *them,* particularly. Most muggles are okay. They're just like us, only without magic." Harry laughed. "That sounded stupid." Cho smiled.  
  
"No, not at all. I get what you mean." Harry gave her a small smile. His spirits were lifting slightly, in spite of himself. They just sat there like that, the pair of green eyes looking into the pair of brown, the pair of brown eyes looking into the pair of green. He would have liked to kiss her... but didn't. Wouldn't be appropriate, plus he wasn't that brave.   
  
Cho suddenly noticed how dark it was getting, and looked at her watch.   
  
"It's getting late, we'd better go."  
  
"Okay." They got up and started up to the castle.  
  
"This was nice," Cho said after a few moments.  
  
"Yeah," Harry agreed, smiling faintly. "It was."   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
A/N: to the 90% of you who hate Cho: she's not in the next chapter, so PLEASE don't run away? :) 


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue (don't own this disclaimer either)  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Harry woke with a start, shaking and sweating. He got out of bed and took the same icy shower he took every time he dreamed.   
  
Why do I have to go through this? Why does he have to do this? Why did I have to help him return?  
  
When Harry stumbled back out of the bathroom, Ron was up, waiting for him. It was like a schedule: every third night, Harry would wake up, take a cold shower, and when he finished, Ron would be up and Hermione would be waiting downstairs.  
  
Ron handed Harry his glasses and they silently met Hermione in the common room. She always got the fire going strong again while she waited for Ron and Harry. They never asked about his dreams. They would sit with him, talk to him about classes and Quidditch and any other normal things, play chess, and generally just keep him company. They would never let him sit alone with his thoughts. They did this every night Harry was off Dreamless Sleep potion.  
  
  
Two days later, Harry was gathering up his Potions supplies and was about to leave another awful Potions lesson.  
  
"Potter!" Snape barked. Harry looked up.   
  
"Come here!"  
  
"We'll wait for you, Harry," Hermione said to him quietly, and she and Ron left and stood outside the dungeon.  
  
Harry made his way up to Snape's desk as the other students left the room. Snape stood silently, scowling at the scum that was Harry, waiting for all the other students to leave.  
  
"Potter," he said coldly at last.  
  
"Yes, Professor?" Snape's scowl deepened.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all, "but you will have to go off of the dreamless sleeping potion you have been receiving lately." Harry opened his mouth to protest.  
  
"*No,* Potter, it's for your own good. Now get out of my class."  
  
Harry left, angry and confused.  
  
"Well, what did he want?" Hermione hissed at him, as soon as they were out of earshot.  
  
"He said I can't have the potion anymore."  
  
"What?!" Ron said, furious. "That fucking dumbass bastard, I could KILL HIM!"   
  
"Ron!" Hermione said.  
  
"What? It's true! He can't do that!"  
  
"Actually, he can," said Harry. "He says it's for my own good."  
  
"I don't see how!" exclaimed Ron. He fumed and all the way back to Gryffindor tower.  
  
"Hey, Ginny," he said huffily to his sister.   
  
"Hello," she said, wondering why her brother was looking so angry. Hermione sat next to her.  
  
"Ginny, would you stay with Harry for a bit? Ron and I have to go somewhere."  
  
"All right," said Ginny, a bit confused. She didn't know where Ron and Hermione were going, or why. She figured it might have something to do with why he was so angry. She did know, however, the importance of staying with Harry, and wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to do so.  
  
So Ron and Hermione left through the portrait hole and Ginny scooted closer to Harry on the couch.  
  
"Hullo, Ginny," Harry said.  
  
"Hey, Harry," Ginny greeted tentatively.  
  
This is wonderful, Harry thought sarcastically. I get to be baby-sat all the time by Ron and Hermione, and when they want to go snog they sic Ginny on me. Can't everyone just leave me alone for once?  
  
"So... who do you want to be Quidditch captain?" Ginny asked Harry.  
  
"I think Angelina'd be good," he said.   
  
"Oh, so do I, I hope she gets it." She lowered her voice a bit and leaned in closer to Harry. "I don't want Fred or George to get it." Harry looked at her.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Well, they're so busy with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and they can't *both* be captain, it'd be rather awkward, wouldn't it?"  
  
"It would, come to think of it." Ginny's certainly better at making conversation than Cho....  
  
"Would you like to be Quidditch captain?" she asked him.  
  
"Hm. I've never thought about it, actually."  
  
"I think you would be a good captain."   
  
"I don't know..."  
  
"Yeah, Harry, you would." Harry said nothing for a few moments.  
  
"I do hope Angelina gets it," Ginny said.  
  
"So do I," said Harry. Yes, Ginny definitely says the right things more than Cho. She's not even bothering me about what happened. Just normal conversation. This is good.  
  
  
Ron and Hermione came to the stone gargoyle that was the entrance to Dumbledore's office.  
  
"I'm sure this is it," Ron said. "I saw it on the map. But what's the password?"  
  
"I think I remember Harry saying something about names of candy." Ron rolled his eyes and shook his head.  
  
"Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans," he tried. "Chocolate frog. erm... fizzing whisbees. licorice wands." The gargoyle jumped aside, and Ron and Hermione stepped inside.  
  
"Woah," Ron said.   
  
"Come on!" urged Hermione, and pulled him up the stairs, which started moving as soon as they stepped onto them.  
  
"It's like an escalator!" exclaimed Hermione.  
  
"A what?"   
  
"Nevermind."  
  
They both knocked on Professor Dumbledore's door, which he opened a moment later.  
  
"Mr. Weasley! Miss Granger!" he exclaimed, surprised. "Please come in." They came inside, and each sat down in a chair, while Dumbledore sat in the chair behind his desk.  
  
"What brings you here?" he asked, fingers tip-to-tip in a pyramid.  
  
"Professor, Professor Snape told Harry he can't have any more Dreamless Sleep potion!" Hermione blurted out.  
  
"I know," he said simply. Ron looked outraged.  
  
"But Professor--" he started. Dumbledore raised a hand to silence him.  
  
"It is for his own good."   
  
"How could it possibly be?!"   
  
"Just trust us, please, Mr. Weasley," he said, with such seriousness that Ron didn't protest. He needn't worry them with the details. They needn't know that Harry was getting dangerous amounts of potion built up inside of him. They were silent for a few moments.  
  
"Professor?"  
  
"Yes, Miss Granger?"  
  
"We're worried about Harry." Dumbledore sighed.  
  
"So am I." 


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Harry sat indain-style silently on his bed. It was a Friday night, no classes tomorrow, so he wasn't even bothering to go to sleep tonight. It really wasn't worth it.  
  
I wonder how long I can stay awake... Harry thought.  
  
Harry heard Ron yawn and thought he'd best get up. He silently made his way downstairs to the common room.   
  
"Where's Ron?" Hermione asked.  
  
"He's coming," said Harry. Ron came down a few minutes later.  
  
"Guess we'll have to do this every night now," he said.  
  
"No, really, you don't have to."  
  
"Of course we are, Harry, we're your friends," Hermione said.  
  
"Really--," Harry began.  
  
"No, Harry, we're going to keep doing this whether you like it or not," Ron said. Harry rolled his eyes.  
  
"*Really,* Harry," said Hermione.  
  
"*Really,* you don't have to."  
  
"We *want* to," Hermione said. Harry sighed.  
  
"Fine."   
  
"Good," said Hermione, in a satisfied sort of way.   
  
"Want to play chess?" Ron asked.  
  
"Not really," said Harry, knowing he would lose.  
  
  
Harry shot straight up in bed, having awoken from a terrible nightmare. Harry placed a shaking hand on his burning scar, shivering and breathing deeply.  
  
*This can't go on,* he thought to himself.  
  
The idea hit him.   
  
It almost worked before... why shouldn't it work now?   
  
Carefully silent, he got out of bed, and went to his trunk. He opened it up, and found what he had been looking for. He glanced around the room, and covered himself with his Invisibility Cloak. He creeped out of the dormitory.  
  
Hermione wasn't in the common room yet; it was completely empty. Harry left the portrait hole, which at the moment held no fat lady: she had gone visiting.   
  
It was a long walk. All the time, Harry was thinking, *It's going to end.* It brought him such great joy.  
  
Harry met no one as he walked briskly through the corridors. Reaching the hallway under the tallest tower, he paused, smiling slightly, then began hurrying up the long stairs.  
  
  
***meanwhile***  
  
Ron yawned and stretched. He turned and sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes, his bare feet on the carpeted floor.  
  
Looking up, he saw the hangings open on Harry's bed. But... he didn't hear the shower running. Maybe he's already downstairs.  
  
Ron made his way easily down the stairs into the Gryffindor common room.  
  
"Hi, Hermione."  
  
"Hi, Ron." She paused. "Where's Harry?"  
  
"You mean he's not with you?"  
  
"No, he's not with me. Are you sure he's not up there?"  
  
"Pretty sure... let me check." He ran back up the stairs. No, the bathroom door is open. Harry's not here.   
  
"Hermione, he's not there."  
  
"He's not?!"  
  
"No."  
  
"Where do you think he's gone?"  
  
"Maybe he's gone to meet Cho Chang," Ron said, laughing, thinking how he would make fun of him when he got back.  
  
"Don't you think he would have told us?" Ron stopped laughing.  
  
"I don't know... Let's check the map." He and Hermione went back up to the dorm.  
  
"You're really not supposed to be up here."  
  
"Like it matters."  
  
Ron knealt by Harry's open trunk.   
  
"He's taken the Invisibility Cloak," he whispered. He dug through Harry's posessions, feeling a bit guilty, until he found the old piece of parchment. He took out his wand.  
  
"I solumnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered, and the lines began forming over the map.  
  
"Let's go to the common room. There's no light up here," Hermione suggested.  
  
They sat together on a couch, scanning the map.   
  
"I've found him!" said Hermione, pointing. Her face fell. "He's going up the tallest tower."  
  
"And Cho Chang's not there either," said Ron, angry. "Dammit! He's going to jump again!" He lept up, and he and Hermione left the common room at a run. 


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I'm just a fifteen-year-old kid writing a bit of Harry Potter angst for fun. I have all of sixty-eight dollars, thirty of which is set aside to buy Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Other than that, I have a cd player that skips and a bunch of Beatles cds I knicked off my mum. Is that worth suing over? No. So, let's just say I don't claim any rights to this stuff and that's that.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Harry slowed his pace as he reached the top of the tower, and went outside. He deeply inhaled the cool night air, pulling off the cloak. The night was still and dark. There was hardly any moonlight.   
  
It's all ending now, Harry thought. I won't have to witness anymore of Voldemort's torturings and killings. I won't have to live with knowing I caused him to return, and that I caused Cedric and Colin to die. I caused the deaths of all those people. It's all my fault. Harry's eyes started to burn. He blinked, hard, then stopped trying to hold back the slowly coming tears.  
  
He took a shaky breath. Am I being selfish?  
  
No, he decided. The world wants me gone. I deserve it, causing all those people to die. Causing Voldemort to return. I let Wormtail go, and he's got my blood. And then I'm worrying everyone, and Ron and Hermione stay up half the night because I wake up. It's not fair! No one should do anything for me. After all I did to them....  
  
Harry walked slowly to the edge of the tower, and looked down. Woah. This is *so* high up! *Far* higher than Ron's roof. Harry smiled slightly. And no one's here to stop me. He looked around again just to be sure. No, no one's here.  
  
This will be good for everyone, Harry thought. I'll get to stop suffering and can see my parents again, and they'll... be rid of me. I don't deserve so much. But it's the best I can do.  
  
Harry turned around and stood, so that his heels were right on the edge of the roof. He slowly closed his eyes, held out his arms, and leaned back....  
  
It was slow motion, falling back off the roof. But soon he was falling... it was sweet, intense, painful, all in slow motion. Harry felt the air whipping past him, and against him. It was the most wonderful, painful feeling.  
  
Should I die in such little pain? Harry managed to think. That's not really what I deserve. But too late now... and it stopped.  
  
  
***meanwhile***  
  
Ron and Hermione ran all the way to the tallest tower, and met no one on the way there. They had no idea what they would have said if they had been caught, but it would have been the truth.  
  
They ran faster and harder than they had ever done in their lives. They never stopped or even slowed their pace, all the way to the tower, all the way up the stairs, despite the fact that they were completely out of breath and each had a stitch in their side. They just kept running and running, knowing they had to try and save the life of their best friend.   
  
The reached the top of the tower and looked around frantically. They saw in the pale moonlight at the same time, for just an instant, one of Harry's hands falling from view.  
  
They drew their wands and performed the spell at *exactly* the same moment, and held out their wands, focusing on the spell as they dashed to the edge of the tower roof, and looked down in horror at their rapidly falling friend.  
  
  
Harry awoke three and a half days later in the hospital wing with a groan. His body ached all over. Harry's eyes moved slowly over the empty hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey bustled into view.  
  
"Oh, hello, dear, you're awake," she said soothingly.   
  
Why the *hell* am I awake, Harry thought, rather angrily. I know how far I fell. No one was there to stop me, either. What happened?!?  
  
Ron and Hermione came back to visit him once classes were over.  
  
"You're awake!" Hermione exclaimed, seeing him, running over. She handed him his glasses.  
  
"Yeah," Harry replied. "Thanks," he said, taking his glasses and putting them on.  
  
"How do you feel?" she asked.  
  
"Terrible."  
  
"Well... you'll get better soon." Ron wasn't saying anything, just sitting next to Hermione with his arms crossed. He looked rather angry.  
  
"What's up, Ron?" Harry asked, wanting to know what his friend was upset over.   
  
"What's up? You just tried to *kill* yourself again, that's what's up!" Ron hissed.  
  
"Ron--," Hermione began quietly.  
  
"What?" She looked at him intently, and he turned away again.  
  
"I'm sorry, Harry,--" Hermione said to Harry quietly.  
  
"What do you have to be sorry about?" Ron asked her. "Are you apologizing for *me?* I have a right to be angry at him!"  
  
"Honestly, Ron, it's just not a good time--"  
  
"I can talk to him whenever I want to!" he said defensively, still keeping his voice down.  
  
"Yeah, Hermione, it's okay," Harry said.  
  
"Don't be angry, Ron," Hermione advised him quietly.  
  
"I can be angry if I want to! He keeps trying to *kill* himself, for heaven's sake! Honestly, Harry, you don't even care, do you?" Harry said nothing. Care about what?  
  
"Harry, you scared us *so much,*" Hermione said gently. Harry didn't really know what to say.  
  
"I didn't mean to," he said feebly.  
  
"You didn't mean to?! Dammit, Harry, you jumped off the roof! What the hell's the matter with you?!"  
  
Harry just stared at his friend as Madam Pomfrey rushed over and shooed Ron and Hermione out, saying Harry needed his rest.  
  
  
Harry sat in the common room with Hermione and Ron a few days later.  
  
"How'd I live?" Harry asked them suddenly. The question had been troubling him for days. Ron stiffened.  
  
"Well... er..." Hermione began. "Ron noticed you weren't here, and so we got the map to see where you were." Ron turned a faint shade of pink, still ashamed at going through his friend's belongings. "And then we saw where you were and went after you. And we got there right after you jumped, and so Ron and I both did the spell Dumbledore did to save you at The Burrow. Dumbledore taught us it when we went to his office the other day, in case you tried it again." Harry felt himself become angry.  
  
"*You* did it!" Harry was lost for words, so he just looked at his friends in disgust for a few moments before running back upstairs to his dormitory, where he half lay on his bed. I was *so close,* and then they have to come and ruin everything for me!   
  
"Harry," Ron asked, coming into the room. Harry swung his legs onto his bed and closed the hangings roughly. Why do they do this to me? Why don't they just let me kill myself in peace?  
  
"Harry," Ron said again, opening the hangings on Harry's bed and standing over him. Harry glared up at him with his fierce green eyes.  
  
"Harry, don't be mad at us," he said. Harry made to close the hangings again, but Ron stopped him. "You've got to stop this."  
  
"Stop what?" he asked.  
  
"*This,* Harry! Trying to kill yourself all the time! All of it! It's crazy for you to be mad at me and Hermione because we didn't let you kill yourself! Do you know how stupid that is?"  
  
"It's *not* stupid, and I have a right to be angry with you! You said so yourself, Ron!"  
  
"Did not!"  
  
"Yes you did! Just the other day, in the hospital wing!" Harry closed the hangings again. Ron, out of words and angry, went back down to the common room. 


	17. Chapter 17

*Ow!* Harry winced from the self-inflicted pain. He'd just pricked himself blood test style, trying to keep awake. *Good, this hurts more than I remember.*  
  
I have to get better at staying awake. Too bad they don't have caffeine here... wait a minute, yeah they do. They have tea, and coffee! Harry remembered the book Hermione gave him for his birthday, and silenty got it out of his trunk, carefully avoiding his pricked finger. He sat down on his bed and looked through the book.  
  
Here it is. A spell to make coffee. Of course, I could just take my cloak and go down to the kitchens... oh well, this will be easier, I suppose. He got up and got a cup from the table with the water on it, and took it back to his four-poster bed and closed the curtains.  
  
Harry emptied the cup of strong coffee very quickly. It burned his tongue, but he didn't care. More pain would only keep him awake longer.   
  
He spent the night chugging coffee. He ended up with a nasty headache, because he wasn't used to *that* much caffeine. Oh well. He was trying now to sleep only every other night. Tonight, he succeeded.  
  
  
"Ron," Hermione said. "We need to talk about Harry." A look of pain crossed Ron's face. "You can't be mad at him now. Or you shouldn't. He really needs us. He really needs you." Ron looked into Hermione's eyes.  
  
"Why does he do this to us?" he asked, genuine pain showing in his voice.   
  
"Only he knows. Things he's seen, things he's dreamed, things he's lived through..." Hermione shook her head. "Only he knows."  
  
"I just wish he would tell us."  
  
"Me too."  
  
"Maybe if we don't gang up on him. Maybe if only one of us talks to him alone some time, we could get it out of him."  
  
"That's a really good idea."  
  
"I think it should be you."  
  
"What? Why me?"  
  
"You're better at that sort of thing. I think he'd be more willing to talk to you. You do it, Hermione. And I'll apologize," he added.  
  
  
"Harry?" Ron approached his best friend. He said nothing. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for being mad at you and everything." His words were slow and choppy, as apologizing was hard for him to do. Harry looked up and saw Ron's look of sincerity, and knew how hard it must have been for him to say that.  
  
"It's all right," he said simply. Ron breathed a sigh of relief. You didn't apologize for saving me, though, did you? Harry couldn't help thinking.  
  
"Hey, Harry," Hermione said. She'd just showed up.  
  
"Oh, I'd better, er... yeah," Ron said, and disappeared.  
  
"What was that about?" Harry asked.  
  
"I don't know," Hermione lied. There was an uncomfortable silence.  
  
"Er... what's up?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh! Nothing, nothing. So... how've you been lately?"  
  
"Eh. Okay." Like he was going to tell her the truth. He really was no better than he was before. He was just trying to cope and come up with a new and better plan for suicide, and gather up the courage....  
  
"I hate how they took away your potion." *Why* did she have to bring that up? "How do you manage?" Harry shrugged. He *really* didn't want to talk about this.  
  
"So... how about that Charms homework, huh?" he said, in an attempt to change the subject.  
  
"Really, Harry."  
  
"I don't know... sometimes I just don't sleep at all."  
  
"How do you do that?"  
  
"Coffee, mostly." Harry winced inwardly. *Mostly?* I shouldn't have said that!  
  
"What else?" Damn.  
  
"Er... cold showers." Good. I didn't say "mostly," or "sometimes," or anything else like that!  
  
"That must be really hard for you. How often do you stay up?"  
  
"Every other night or so."  
  
"Wow. So it's every night?"  
  
"Voldemort? Mostly." Dammit! What else could there be besides Voldemort? I as good as told her...  
  
"So you have other dreams, too?"  
  
"Er... sometimes, yeah."  
  
"What about?" Harry sighed very deeply. "About the Tournament?" Harry got up.  
  
"Listen, I'm going to leave now. I'll see you later." Then he left Hermione alone and hurried up to the dormitories.  
  
"I thought you had to er... yeah," Harry said, seeing Ron sprawled across his bed.  
  
"What?" he said, sitting up.  
  
"I thought you had to er... yeah," Harry said again, sitting on his own bed. Ron laughed, catching sight of the expression on Harry's face, which showed he wasn't mad. Actually, a part of him was, but he didn't want to fight with Ron anymore, especially since Ron had apologized to him within the hour. Of course, he didn't know that Hermione's questions were Ron's idea. All he knew was that he knew about and was in on it. 


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue. JKR is pure brilliance!   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
*Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and Harry let out a yell that was strangled in the wad of material blocking his mouth.  
  
It was as though Wormtail had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind -- but worse, a hunderd times worse. The thing wormtail had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, except that Harry had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and it's face -- no child alive ever had a face like that -- flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes. Wormtail lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Harry heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.  
  
Wormtail raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night.  
  
"*Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!*"  
  
The surface of the grave at Harry's feet cracked. A fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.  
  
And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.  
  
"*Flesh -- of the servant -- w-willingly given -- you will -- revive -- your master."  
  
He stretched his right hand out in front of him -- the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.  
  
Harry realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened -- he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but he could not block the scream that pierced the night, that went through Harry as though he had been stabbed with the dagger too. He heard something fall to the ground, heard Wormtail's anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. Harry couldn't stand to look... but the potion had turned a burning red; the light of it shone through Harry's closed eyelids....  
  
Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. Not until Harry felt Wormtail's anguished breath on his face did he realize that Wormtail was right in front of him.  
  
"*B-blood of the enemy...forcibly taken...you will...resurrect your foe.*"  
  
Harry could do nothing to prevent it, he was tied too tightly.... Squinting down, struggling hopelessly at the ropes binding him, he saw the shining silver dagger shaking in Wormtail's remaining hand. He felt its point penetrate the crook of his right arm and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes.*  
  
Harry woke suddenly, and pushed his sweaty bangs off his face. He lay in his bed and sobbed. He was so worn down, so horrorfied. No one could see or hear him cry. After what seemed like forever, he finally stopped.   
  
I *need* some Dreamless sleep potion, he thought, sitting up, sniffing, and rubbing his eyes. I don't care what Snape says, or Dumbledore, even.... I'm going to get some. He got up and with expert silence opened his trunk and took out his Invisibility Cloak. He then got out the Marauder's Map and closed the trunk again. Taking his wand, he whispered, "I solumnly swear I am up to no good," and tapped the map. Lines spread out from the center, and he could see what was going on inside the school. Throwing the cloak over himself, he left the dormitory.  
  
The corridors were deserted. Harry kept glancing at the map just to make sure. After ten minutes, he glanced at the map and moved to the side, holding his breath. If he hadn't had the map he would have walked right into Filch, who was walking around the corner. Mrs. Norris stared at him for several moments before they finally moved on. Harry breathed a sigh of relief once he was sure they were out of earshot, and kept going.  
  
He eventually reached the hospital wing. He remembered with a grimace the many times he'd woken up here, and especially the most recent and disappointing one. He peered around, wondering where he should look. Probably not where the beds are... Madam Pomfrey usually comes in through here... He decided to try that way.  
  
The wall was covered in shelves filled with neatly labeled bottles of potion. Harry looked around, then peered at the map, before pulling out his wand and muttering "lumos" so he could search better.  
  
It took a long time. Eventually, though, the found the bottle labeled "Dreamless Sleep." Harry looked around and saw nearby a glass-fronted cabinet filled with goblets, so, putting his wand away, he silently took one and poured some potion into it, then carefully replaced the top on the bottle and gently set it back in it's place on the shelf. There. No one will ever know any is missing. Though I really probably ought to learn to brew this stuff myself sometime... Big hassle doing this, and she'll notice if she runs out... Harry slowly and carefully walked back to the Gryffindor common room, without running into Filch again, or Peeves either.  
  
Harry grimaced again as he saw Ron and Hermione hysterical and trying to comfort each other in the common room. That's right, he thought. If I wander off they think I'm trying to kill myself... and I've got the map, so they can't find me.  
  
Harry approached the two of them, and with his free hand pulled off the cloak. The sudden appearance of Harry when they feared his certain death startled them, and they both fell onto a couch.  
  
Harry set the goblet down on a coffee table and shook them.  
  
"Harry, don't *do* that to us!" Ron said, once he came to. Hermione just closed her eyes and shook her head slightly.  
  
"Guys, don't freak out like that. I just snuck out to get some potion, okay? I'm going to bed." And he took his things and went back up to the dormitory. He replaced his cloak and cleared map, sat in his bed, and drank all the potion in one gulp.  
. 


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
"Ron, I've been thinking," Hermione said.  
  
"Well that's unusual." Hermione ignored his comment.  
  
"There must've been a *reason* Snape and Dumbledore took Harry's potion away."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Well, I don't know... There must be some side effect or something."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I don't *know,* we haven't covered side effects in potions yet."  
  
"He must've really needed it, though, it he went off and got it like that."  
  
"Probably true. Hey, I have an idea. Let's Cheering Charm him. You can do that whenever he wakes up so he won't get more potion very often, because we don't know what it does to him." Ron nodded in agreement.  
  
  
A few days later, Quidditch practices began. Hermione got Harry to go by discreetly Cheering Charming him from behind a book. She looked at her watch, knowing the charm would wear off in about an hour, and the she or Ron would need to perform again to prevent the obvious consequences.  
  
Harry was the new Quidditch captain, because he was a fifth year, the same age many people are when they become captain, and had the enthusiasm and natural talent required. With the effects of the cheering charm, he was thrilled.  
  
Hermione the prefect left the common room almost an hour later, to find a window from which the quidditch pitch was visible to renew the cheering charm. She went rather than Ron because she was a prefect and no questions would be asked.   
  
They were secretely relieved but not surprised when Harry came back into the common room and told them the good news.   
  
"That's great, Harry!" said Hermione.  
  
"Hey, think I could get on the team?" asked Ron. Harry grinned. It was a sight unseen for months.  
  
"Maybe. You should try out."  
  
"I will."  
  
  
Harry sat up in bed, breathing heavily, woken from a dream in a flash of green light.  
  
What have I done? He felt chilled, and sick. He groaned and sat up in bed. He shivered. He hung his head and wallowed in despair. He hated watching people being tortured and murdered, and knew all of it was his fault. He rubbed his aching scar.  
  
What have I done? he thought again. I don't deserve to live...  
  
He sat there like that for a long while. Then, suddenly, a most peculiar thing happened. Voldemort... the dreams... didn't seem very important anymore. Harry's whole mood became... cheerful. It was odd. Harry couldn't figure it out, but he was too happy to really care at the moment. He'd try to figure it out later. He decided to go back to sleep.  
  
  
Again Harry sat up in bed, panting.   
  
Oh, Cedric. I'm so sorry I dragged you into this and got you killed. What have I done? It's all my fault.  
  
Voldemort's returned... with my blood. His return is my fault. Harry felt sick. Oh, I can't stand this. He held his head in his hands. I killed Cedric. I brought Voldemort back. I killed all those people. He reached for his pocketknife and opened it up. He didn't really know what to do next. He only thought, "Where no one can see." He decided on rolling up his sleeve and cutting his upper arm. The pain shot through him and seeped into him as the blood ran down his arm. It was such terribly wonderful pain and he became nothing but the pain for all to short a while. It was comforting.  
  
  
Harry spent a lot of time the next few days researching potions in the library. Specifically, dreamless sleeping potions.  
  
The Draught of Living Death. That one might be nice. Just sleep and sleep and sleep... Actual death would be better, though. That would have a better chance at solving my problems. With the Draught I would wake up sometime... and it would still be the same. But with death, I could be free. There would be none of this, I'd be with my parents, the world would be rid of me.... He sighed, and kept looking through the books. He eventually checked out a few. Madam Pince looked at him suspiciously. Does she suspect anything? He hid the books under his bed to the baby-sitters(Ron and Hermione) wouldn't find them.  
  
  
"Hey Harry," said Fred in the locker rooms at Quidditch practice, "what happened to you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Your arms." Harry looked at his arms. Damn.   
  
"Oh! Dudley pushed me down the stairs," he lied quickly. Come to think of it, Dudley *had* pushed him down the stairs before, but not since knowing he was a wizard. That was a good lie, I told, and very quick, too, he thought to his cheering-charmed self.  
  
  
Harry found himself, much to his disgust, in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. However, much to his relief, she was ignoring him. He was sitting on a seat, a book propped open on his lap, trying to decide which potion to make. He could go for the good, ordinary dreamless sleep potion. Or, he could try something more original. 


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: refer to previous chapters, would you?  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
Harry thought of what he wanted the dreamless sleep potion to hide from, the horrors he'd caused. He didn't want to hide from it anymore. He only wanted everything to stop.  
  
Still, he looked over the potions on the page. There, the dreamless sleep potion.  
  
Harry resigned himself to making the potion rather than trying anything more drastic tonight. He really wasn't bad at potion-making, despite Professor Snape. Harry quietly made the potion, listening to Moaning Myrtle mope in her toilet. He read the next step in the book, then froze.  
  
There was a side note in the instructions. It warned that if the next two ingredients in the potion were put in in the wrong order a lethal poison would result.  
  
This is my chance. It would be so easy. I could make the potion incorrectly, pretend to go to sleep and no one would know till morning. And it won't get Ron and Hermione all worked up. This is perfect.  
  
With shaking hands Harry added the next ingredients in the incorrect order and finished the potion. Then he put back on his Invisibility Cloak and left Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.  
  
Harry walked carefully through the corridors, blood pounding in his ears. This is it. This is the end of everything. No more endangering people, no more guilt. The world will be free me, and I'll be free from it. I'll be with my parents, and the world will appreciate it.  
  
Harry shook his head slightly, thoughts of Voldemort starting to seep in. He had to keep his composure in front of Ron and Hermione. He couldn't let them know.  
  
He entered the common room.  
  
No one noticed the portrait hole opening by itself. Harry walked invisibly and silently through the Gryffindor common room and went up the stairs to the fifth year dormitory. Ron looked up from the Marauder's Map as Harry entered.   
  
Harry took off the cloak.  
  
"Hello," said Ron, pleased to see his best friend safely return. Harry had given him permission to watch him with the map while he made the potion. Harry tried to act as if everything were normal.  
  
"Hello, Ron. I'm going to bed now."  
  
"Okay," Ron said. "I'll be in the common room with Hermione, then. Good night."  
  
"Goodbye," Harry said, and Ron left the dormitory.  
  
Harry sat on his bed, thinking. Should I just go to bed like normal? Maybe make it look like an accident? No, he decided, that just didn't feel right to him. He wanted to write Ron and Hermione each a note.  
  
Harry got out a quill, some ink, and some parchment, and sighed, thinking what to write.  
  
Dear Ron,  
  
I know you'll probably be the one to find me. I just want you to know that you were a very good friend to me and the first friend I ever had. I also want you to know that this was for the best. I'm with my parents now. You're not in danger anymore because of me. That's why Colin Creevy died, because Voldemort thought he was my friend. It was my fault Voldemort came back, he's got my blood, and it's my fault Cedric Diggory was killed, and it's my fault Voldemort's been killing all those other people. Basically I've killed them. The world will be better off without me, they'll be glad to get rid of me. It's better for everyone this way.  
  
Thank your family for being so kind to me. The Burrow and Hogwarts were the only places that ever really felt like home to me. And, even though this is hard for me, know that I died happy. It's finally going to be finished, and nothing could ever make me happier.  
  
Goodbye,  
  
Harry  
  
Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and ran his fingers through his hair. Now it was time for Hermione's letter, and then he could go.  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
I just want you to know that you were a very good friend to me. I don't know how I would ever have gotten through all my homework without you. You're very brave, and very smart, and I'm hoping you'll understand why I did this. You, Ron, the Weasleys, you're all safer now because you don't have ties to me anymore. I can't kill you. I've already killed too many people by helping Voldemort return. Just, please, remember this is for the best.  
  
Goodbye,  
  
Harry  
  
Harry looked over the letters, and to Ron's added a P.S.  
  
I'm sorry you feel overshadowed by your brothers. You really are a great person. You're very brave and have always been a very good friend to me. Thank you for that. Please understand why I had to do this.  
  
Harry put away his ink and quill, and left the letters in the drawer in his bedside table, and started to cry. He then took the potion, closed the hangings on his bed, and downed the whole of the potion. He lay back peacefully as he felt warmth overtake him, and all went black. 


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Ron entered the fifth year dormitory, looking for his transfiguration notes. He began rummaging through his bag. Oh, that's right. I lent them to Harry. Ron glanced in the direction of Harry's bed and crept over. He dug through Harry's bag, looking back in Harry's direction every few seconds to make sure he hadn't woken up.  
  
They weren't there. Ron set the bag back down and made his way to Harry's bedside table. He opened the drawer.   
  
He picked up a few sheets of parchment, glancing casually at the one on top. Reading the first few sentences, his eyes became round with horror. He dropped the letters and whipped open the hanging's on Harry's bed.   
  
He's there. He stared down at Harry's pale, tearstained, strangely peaceful-looking face. Oh, God! He's still breathing, good. Barely, but he's still breathing, good.  
  
Ron dashed downstairs, and frantically found Hermione. He grabbed her wrist, and pulled her from the common room.  
  
"Chocolate frog!" they shouted together at the stone gargoyle, and it leapt aside. They ran up the escalator-like staircase and pounded on the headmaster's door.  
  
Albus Dumbledore had been pacing his office, and immediately swung open the door. He saw Ron and Hermione standing there, and the desperate looks on their faces, and wordlessly rushed off with them.  
  
"What's happened?" he asked as they hurried along.  
  
"I don't know," said Ron, his voice far higher than usual. "He left a note, that's how I found him."  
  
"The potion," Hermione said.  
  
"What?" asked Ron.  
  
"The potion. He made it wrong on purpose, that must have been it."  
  
"What potion?" Dumbledore asked.  
  
"He was trying to make a dreamless sleeping potion. Or so he said," Ron growled.  
  
They reached the common room. Professor Dumbledore suddenly disappeared.  
  
"Professor?" Ron and Hermione asked, voices higher still.  
  
"I'm still here," they heard his voice say. "Only invisible."  
  
Hermione said the password and they went back in. The three of them hurried to the dormitory. Ron grabbed Hermione's wrist and dragged her along to show her it was okay in case she had any doubts.   
  
Ron led them to Harry's bed. Dumbledore's voice could be heard muttering a few very well-chosen words. Harry sort of glowed for a few seconds. When it stopped, his breathing was slightly deeper and easier.  
  
"That bought some time," Dumbledore said. "Stay here, I'll be back."  
  
Ron and Hermione could only stay in the dormitory and wait, eyes transfixed on Harry. As the minutes ticked by, his breathing became shallower.  
  
"Damn you, Harry," Ron breathed.  
  
After what seemed like centuries, the dormitory door opened, and Professor Dumbledore reappeared in the middle of the room, holding a small flask in his hand. He lifted Harry's head, opened his mouth, and poured the contents of the flask down Harry's throat. He then gently laid Harry back down. Harry's breathing returned to normal.  
  
"He'll live now," Dumbledore said. "He'll wake in the morning. Good luck." He vanished.  
  
"Now what?" Hermione whispered to Ron.  
  
"I'd better stay with him," he said. "See you in the morning."  
  
  
Harry rubbed his eyes and squinted out into the dormitory against the bright sunlight. He felt for his glasses, found them, and put them on, sitting up. Something was wrong.  
  
Oh. The hangings are open. That's it.  
  
Wait. There's something else as well.   
  
Harry remembered the night before and realized what it was. He cursed silently.  
  
How could I have done it again? How did I mess it up this time? He cursed silently again, and opened the drawer of his night table.  
  
His heart stopped. They're gone. The letters. They're gone! His pulse quickened and he looked around frantically. His eyes fell on Ron standing in front of him. Harry gulped.   
  
"Harry!" Ron hissed, shaking the letters at him. To Harry's surprise, he sounded not angry, but frightened and sad. It was even worse.  
  
Harry didn't know what he was supposed to say.   
  
"What happened?" he asked, knowing it probably wasn't the best thing to say. But he had to know.  
  
"I was looking for my transfiguration notes," Ron began, speaking very quietly. "I remembered I'd lent them to you." He took a deep breath. "Then I found these, and then I found you. Then me and Hermione went and found Dumbledore, and we figured out how you'd done it." He swallowed. "And Dumbledore went invisible, and we came up here, and he said some sort of spell. Then you glowed for a few seconds, it was so weird. And then he left, and came back later with some potion - the antidote. He gave it to you, and then you started breathing more and normally again." He exhaled a shaky breath. "That's it."  
  
Harry felt anger rush through him. Angry at Ron, for saving him, angry at himself, for being so careless.  
  
"Have you read it?" Harry asked dangerously and extremely quietly, nodding toward the parchment Ron was holding. He nodded. "Did you read it before you went to Dumbledore?" Ron shook his head.  
  
"Just the first bit." Harry let out a slow breath.  
  
"Do you regret it now?" Harry asked in the same quiet, dangerous tone.  
  
"What?" Ron whispered.  
  
"Do you regret going to Dumbledore? Do you regret saving me? Do you regret not reading the whole letter?"  
  
"No, Harry! No!"  
  
"So you'd do it again? Even if you had read the letter first?"  
  
"Yes, Harry! Of course I would! Why are you asking me this?" His voice was desperate.  
  
"If. You knew. What I wanted. You'd still. Do that." Harry said. He shook his head in disgust. "I should've expected that from you." He silently got up and started his day, angry at himself and at the world and shooting nasty glares at Ron. 


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: yeah, whatever. just don't sue me, ok?  
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Ron sat with Hermione on a sofa in the common room, sad eyes watching Harry walk by. Hermione waved him over, trying to look friendly and nice and not scare him further away.  
  
Harry's dull eyes saw Hermione waving him over. I don't want to talk to you, Harry thought. You're a sorry excuse for friends... Of course, I don't want more people to hate me than already do... Though, if I'm going to die anyway, it won't really matter... Except if things keep up the way they have been, I won't die. Unfortunately. Stupid Ron.  
  
Hermione gave Harry a quick, forced, friendly, and trying-not-to-scare-you-away smile as he came over and sat on the couch. Even if it was as far as possible away from them on Hermione's side.  
  
"So... how's quidditch?" Hermione asked. "Tryouts anytime soon?" Quidditch. Tryouts. I don't want to think about that. Can't someone else do it?  
  
Harry shrugged.  
  
"Want to play chess?" Hermione tried.  
  
"No." Hermione frowned. Sure, he'd quit playing with Ron a long time ago, but he'd only very recently stopped playing with her. It worried her.  
  
"Want me to look over you transfiguration homework?" she ventured.  
  
"I haven't done it yet."  
  
"Oh." They sat in akward silence for several long minutes. This is stupid.   
  
"I'm going upstairs," Harry said shortly. He climbed the spiral staircase to the top, to his dormitory. He grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, flung it over himself, climbed onto his bed and shut the hangings.  
  
Ron silently got off the couch and followed Harry.  
  
"Harry?" he said upon entering the dormitory. No answer.  
  
"Harry?" Ron asked again. Why must he insist on following me? Why can't he just let me be? Harry held his breath. Ron opened the hangings on Harry's bed. Harry shifted his eyes toward Ron soundlessly.  
  
Ron looked all around within the hangings. His gaze paused on Harry. He can't see me... Harry thought nervously. He can't.  
  
"Harry, I know you're there," Ron said. "The sheets are messed up where you're sitting." Harry watched Ron reach out his hand in his direction, and Harry leaned away. When Ron felt where Harry was, he whipped off the cloak.  
  
"Harry," he said. Harry merely stared at him.  
  
"Harry, we need to talk," he said slowly. Harry scowled. This couldn't be good. "Don't be mad at me, Harry. Please. You know why I had to do it." Harry looked at him.  
  
"No I don't."  
  
"Harry, yes you do, you're my *friend,* you're my *best* friend, I can't let you give up like that. I can't." Ron seemed truly upset. Harry, however, was quite upset as well.  
  
"If you're my 'best friend,' then you would understand, and you would let me do it for once! I can't believe you don't get it, Ron."  
  
"I can't believe *you* don't get it, Harry."  
  
"What don't I get?"  
  
"*You can't give up.* You're *so important* to us, to all the wizarding world. Like Dobby says. There's something about you, and you're our hope. I know it, Hermione knows it, you *must* know it. I think even Dumbledore knows. Come on, Harry."  
  
"I'm not 'so important.' And Dobby said that before-- before I brought Voldemort back. The wizarding world hates me, I don't know why you lot bother 'saving' me all the time, it'd be doing everyone a favor it you just gave it up." Ron started shaking his head, slow at first, then faster and harder. "Yes, Ron, it WOULD be doing EVERYONE a favor if you'd just let me. It'd be doing me a favor, it'd be doing you a favor, Hermione, Dumbledore, the whole wizarding world! It would be good for everybody, so if you get a chance to stop me next time, DON'T, okay?"  
  
"It'd only do You-Know-Who a favor if you were-- if you did that!"  
  
"Say the name, Ron. Voldemort. How would it be doing him a favor? Being *alive* did him a favor, if I had been dead he couldn't have my blood! He wouldn't have returned!"  
  
"Oh, Harry, you know he could have come back," Ron said, sounding desperate. "He would have found some other way, he would have found some other way...." The next moment Ron was on his back on the floor. He looked up, bewildered, head pounding, to see Harry standing above him pointing his wand at him.  
  
"He *didn't,* Ron, he *didn't.* It was *me,* *I* brought him back. Promise me you'll let me do it next time." Ron, though his head was hurting incredibly from Harry's curse and he feared what he was going to do to him, shook his head.  
  
"Promise me, Ron," said Harry again, his desperate voice deadly quiet. Ron shook his head again.   
  
"Promise me!" Ron looked up at Harry with fear across his face, but shook his head again.  
  
"I can't..." he croaked. Harry looked him over with his hard eyes, and the next moment, Harry left the dormitory wearing his Invisibility Cloak, leaving Ron knocked out behind him on the floor.  
  
  
Harry sat outside by the lake, sobbing into his knees. He couldn't believe what he'd done to Ron. Something just came over him, and he knew that when Ron came to, he wouldn't think any differently. Ron's too stubborn, as stupid as it is.   
  
Harry took off his Invisibility Cloak so he could breath properly. He felt so terrible, like such an awful person. What he did to Ron, what he'd done to the wizarding world, and the rest of the world for that matter. He closed his eyes and shivered and sat.  
  
"Harry?" Harry promptly pulled the Invisibility Cloak over himself. He got up, and very carefully started walking away.  
  
"Harry, I know you're there," Hermione said. "Please? Can I talk to you?" Harry continued to creep away. "Please?" Her pleading tone made Harry pause. "Please?" she said again, quietly. Harry felt angry at himself for it, and knew he would regret it, but still pulled off the cloak.  
  
Hermione looked up from the spot Harry was to ten yards away, where he'd suddenly appeared.  
  
"Harry," she said. He said nothing. She shivered. The way he was staring, it was creepy, it was as if he could see inside her.  
  
"Er... Ron told me what you said." Harry still said nothing. Hermione tentatively started walking toward him. "It would be devastating to us if you ever-- if you ever-- died. You're our best friend, we can't stand not having you around. Please help us understand what's going on with you. Please."  
  
"No," Harry said. "No, I can't do that to you. I can't do that to you." Hermione was right up to him now. "It's too awful." Next thing he knew, Hermione had him in a tight hug. Harry struggled and got free.   
  
"No. You can't know. I'd never do anything to hurt you, you know that. Or Ron. I'm sorry what I did to him, something just came over me, I don't know-- Please, if you have the chance to stop me when I try again, don't. *Please.* Don't."  
  
"I can't, Harry. I'd have to save you. Even if it is from yourself." Harry turned and ran up to the castle. 


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: JKR is brilliant. she is lovely and wonderful and compared to her I am nothing. read disclaimers from previous chapters  
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Harry lay awake, shivering in the middle of the night, gently rubbing the scar that had woken him up. Or had that been the dream? He couldn't be sure.  
  
He felt strange. It wasn't a sensation, but an emotion. An odd, desperate, lost sort of feeling. He only knew what he was planning to do. How he would possibly go about it, he wasn't sure.   
  
He wanted Ron and Hermione to understand how he was feeling, and what was going on, without actually letting them know. He was afraid of hurting them, and therefore was afraid of letting them know any particulars. He wanted them to stop trying to save him.  
  
Harry reached under his mattress and pulled out the knife that was so precious to him. I wonder how much it would hurt? he thought as he ran his thumb over the dull edge. It really wouldn't be too difficult to hide.  
  
Decision made, he raised his left wrist and gently cut the inner side.  
  
  
"Hello, Ron," said Harry that morning, almost cheerfully, carefully and discreetly tugging down the left sleeve of his robes.  
  
"Good morning, Harry," Ron said, inwardly sighing with relief as he always did when his cheering charms worked on Harry. Today could be a calm, ordinary day, like they used to be, if it were kept up.  
  
"Hello, Hermione," Harry said, greeting her in the common room.  
  
"Good morning, Harry!" she said, smiling appreciatively at Ron when Harry wasn't looking.  
  
*Blimey, he's like a different person when he's Charmed,* Ron thought. *Or rather, when he's not. Wish I knew what was up with him.* Meanwhile, Hermione was thinking the same thing. She looked over to Ron and they had a silent arguement with their eyes.  
  
*We should talk to him. When he's like this.*  
  
*No! Do we have to?*  
  
**Yes.**  
  
*Oh, come on. Please?*  
  
*We have to talk to him sometime.*  
  
*Fine!*  
  
"Tonight," Hermione whispered to Ron.  
  
  
That evening, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were alone together in an empty classroom, sitting around uncomforatbly.  
  
*This is ridiculous,* Hermione thought. *He's our *friend,* we should feel okay about talking to him.*  
  
"Er... Harry? What's been up with you lately? You haven't been talking to us at all." She cringed inwardly at her bluntness, but knew the cheering charm would do it's job. Harry shrugged.   
  
*Of course he has to make it more difficult than it already is,* Ron thought, scowling to himself.  
  
"Harry, answer us," he said.  
  
"I'm trying," Harry said quietly. The room was filled with chilly silence for a few minutes.  
  
"You know Voldemort's come back," he said slowly. "And that I can feel it, in my scar." He rubbed his scar absent-mindedly. "And see him, in my dreams." Oh, this is so hard! "And I see what he does to people." He stopped for several moments, then shook his head forcefully as though trying to shake a thought from it. Ron and Hermione didn't interrupt. Where to continue? "When I don't see that, I'm dreaming other things. About after the third task." He shivered. Swallowing, he continued. "Cedric, Wormtail, Voldemort, the Death Eaters, the wands..." He had to stop again. It was all flooding back to him so forcefully, he had to close his eyes. Hermione put an arm around him reassuringly, and he shook the memories from his head. Where to continue? They must understand. After several painful moments, Harry continued speaking. "Voldemort's got my blood. It brought him back," he said in a whisper. "And what he did to Cedric was because of me. He shouldn't have been there. And to Colin... because he thought he was my friend. All those people... if it wasn't for me..."  
  
"Harry, he would have come back some other way," Hermione said pleadingly. She and Ron could both tell Harry was in a bad place. Harry shook his head slowly.  
  
"But he didn't. It was me. He wanted my blood. To make him stronger. All those people..." Hermione and Ron felt chills run down their spines.  
  
"No, Harry, no, no," Ron pleaded desperately.  
  
"I don't want to hurt you. You know that. So I can't tell you *everything,* but I have to make you understand. Will you?" Now Harry was pleading.  
  
"No, Harry..." Hermione said, shaking her head sadly.  
  
"Please don't hate me," Harry said.  
  
"We'd never hate you, Harry!" Hermione said. "You're our best friend! We love you."  
  
"Then please don't try to stop me?" Harry asked.  
  
"Harry, we'd have to..." said Ron.  
  
"We'd have to..." Hermione echoed.  
  
"I should have known you'd never understand," Harry said sadly. "But I have my reasons, so I'm begging you, *please?*"  
  
"No," Hermione said quietly, looking sadly at her friend.   
  
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, apologizing in advance for what he planned to do. 


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue, just enjoy.  
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Harry thought of his parents as he sat staring out the window at the sky. How nice it would be to see them again. Will be. How nice it will be.  
  
He glanced sideways toward Ron for a moment before staring out the window again. How would he escape Ron? He'd been giving it a *lot* of thought lately. Though he wouldn't have thought it possible, he now wanted more than ever before to die, and knew he must thoroughly think it through this time.   
  
Where could he go where no one could find him? And the longer he went unfound, the better, as so far he had been inturrupted far sooner than he'd expected. Where could he go?  
  
The prefects' bathroom was a thought. It was a nice place, and hardly anyone could get into it. He could lock it, and he knew the password. Or at least, he hoped he knew the password. It may have been changed. That could be a problem. Also, people *could* access it. And then there's Moaning Myrtle and her spying tendancies.... No, no, that wouldn't work.  
  
Where could no one find him? Of course. He was the only Parselmouth in the school, and where do you need to be a Parselmouth to get into? The Chamber of Secrets. It still exists, and no one could ever get into it except him. Or Voldemort, but he would never come near Hogwarts, especially to *save* Harry's life. But that's such an awful place, and it's so connected with Voldemort and Slytherin... There was no way he'd ever go in there again.  
  
The secret passage into Hogsmeade... He could go far enough so he's off the map, or take the map with him... and only Fred and George knew how to get into it. Except they'd find him there for sure.   
  
His best chance was the Forbidden Forest, and that is what he planned.  
  
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Should I write a letter? How could I write a letter that wouldn't be found before it's time? And what exactly would I say? And what should I leave behind? And who should I leave it all to?  
  
These questions had been swirling around Harry's mind. They, too, he had figured out, though none of them were easy questions to answer.  
  
It was after midnight, a Friday morning. Harry had been pretending to be asleep for hours. Ron was now asleep, and Harry was listening tensely to his steady breathing. Silently Harry reached under his pillow and took out the piece of parchment, ink bottle and quill he had stashed there for this moment. He flicked open the hangings on his four poster bed so that a bit of moonlight could shine through, and wrote his simple, well-rehearsed note.  
  
  
Dear Ron,  
  
I'm gone now. I'm leaving all my posessions to you and your family. You, Hermione, your family, were all very kind to me. Thank you.  
  
-Harry  
  
  
Short, simple, and saying everything he wanted to be said.  
  
He got up silently and dressed, glancing nervously over to Ron's bed every few moments. Ron had become a very light sleeper, but Harry was even better at being silent, so Ron remained asleep.  
  
Silently Harry hid the note under his mattress. Then he grabbed the Marauder's Map and hid it as well. Then he threw his Invisibility Cloak over himself, and set off through the castle and into the night.  
  
"Lumos," he was forced to mutter as he entered the forest. Could light be seen from under an Invisibility Cloak? He ran down the path, his fastest way into the forest, and went for quite awhile, until he was deep into the forest and certainly no longer visibile on the Marauder's Map. Then he left the path.   
  
He made his way slowly through the trees and brush, stepping over large roots and peering about uncertainly. The night was quiet.   
  
He wandered through the forest and away from the path until a very pale, eerie grey light illuminated the forest, and Harry put away his wand. It was still extremely dark, but now he could at least see without his wand.  
  
Harry knew it was rather likely for Ron to be up and panicking by now, and that he'd best get down to business.  
  
He sat at the base of a large tree and leaned against the trunk. He was so happy, excited, relieved the end was coming. He would get to see his parents again, get to stop dealing with his guilt and with the world... Harry drew in a deep, shuttering breath. He closed his eyes, and again began to cry. After a few minutes, he shook his head, wiped his eyes so he could see, yet continued to cry, only more subdued and calm.   
  
He pulled the knife out of his pocket and opened the blade. He turned it so it gleamed in the light.  
  
He rolled up the sleeves of his robes. He examined the undersides of his arms, tracing the veins with his cold fingers.  
  
Then he took up the knife. He took it in his hand and lay the blade lightly over the vein in his wrist. Then he pressed.  
  
He intook his breath sharply as the first wave of pain came over him and he began to bleed. He began to feel peaceful. He watched the blood pouring out of him as he dragged the blade deeply up his arm, tracing the veins. Covered in blood, he repeated the process with his other arm while he still had the strength, starting at his wrist, and dragging the blade up his arm, tearing his veins and watching himself bleed.  
  
His breathing was jagged. He wasn't afraid. He felt an odd combination of sorrow, joy, guilt, triumph, and peace. He watched with a peaceful satisfaction as he became bathed in his own blood. He slumped against the tree, and everything went black. 


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: yep, I don't own it (unfortunately)  
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Ron looked blearily around the dark dormitory. Something wasn't right.   
  
He listened carefully. One... two... three people breathing.   
  
In an instant he was up and next to Harry's bed. No, he's not here!   
  
Ron frantically looked around, then threw open Harry's trunk, looking for the Marauder's Map. Ron swore - the map wasn't there, and neither was the Invisibility Cloak. Harry's run off, invisible, and I can't find him anywhere, and I know what he's going to do, he thought, as he started looking about the room again.   
  
He looked in the drawer of Harry's nightstand. He looked in the drawer of his own nightstand. He lifted Harry's pillow and threw back the sheets, looking. He knealt down and looked under the bed, then between the mattresses.  
  
His heart stopped as he touched the parchment and whipped it out. He dashed over to the window to read.   
  
The note said nothing he didn't expect it to say, but he still could have fainted as he was reading it. He quickly grabbed his wand.  
  
"I solumnly swear I am up to no good," he said breathlessly, tapping the map. Instantly lines began to spread over the map from the point his wand had touched, and in a few precious moments the whole of Hogwarts lay before Ron's eyes.  
  
Ron's eyes frantically scanned the map, desperately searching for Harry's name. His heart stopped again as at last he found it, knowing he was too late. He swayed on the spot as he watched Harry run off the map and into the Forbidden Forest, and it took all of Ron's will to stay standing.  
  
Without hesitating, he leapt out of the dormitory, down the stairs, and out of the Gryffindor common room. He ran as fast and as hard as he could, to the only person who might possibly help now - Dumbledore.  
  
"What happened?" Dumbledore asked, walking quickly beside Ron. The corridors were now lit eerily with the pale grey, early morning light.  
  
"I saw him run off the map into the forest. He's got the Cloak," Ron answered. Dumbledore closed his eyes as though wounded for a second, but kept walking. Ron decided that was just the light playing tricks with his eyes. Surely Dumbledore could save him....  
  
"Hagrid!" Dumbledore called, pounding on his front door. A few moments later Hagrid opened his front door.  
  
"Hagrid," Dumbledore said solumnly. "You need to take Fang, go into the forest, and find Harry." Hagrid's face paled to the color of parchment, and he nodded shakily and emerged with Fang on a leash within seconds.  
  
"Where did he go in?" Dumbledore asked Ron.   
  
"Here," he said, pointing it out. "Along the path."  
  
Fang sniffed around on the ground, picking up the scent, then followed it down the path. Ron and Professor Dumbledore followed a few feet behind.  
  
They went down the path as quickly as they could, and for a very long while. All three of them gasped when Fang finally started off the path.  
  
The trees were very thick, and they had to slow down considerably to get through them. Ron's heart was beating painfully fast. Still they kept going, farther and farther away from the path.  
  
At last, at long, long last, Fang stopped, at the base of a large tree. Ron was relieved to have found him, but felt sick with fear at the same time. What if they were too late? Fang whimpered.  
  
Professor Dumbledore went forward and felt around for a moment until he felt where Harry was, and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak.   
  
Hagrid stumbled off a few paces and threw up.   
  
Ron fainted.  
  
"We're too late," Dumbledore said quietly. 


End file.
